The Book of Counted Sorrows

You know, however, what my opinion is worth: My opinion and two dollars will buy you a latte at Starbucks.

The thought of that latte was so appetizing, so fully realized with my free and supple imagination, that even though I did not, in fact, consume the beverage, I am now required to floss and proceed to the carriage master’s cottage.

Be not afraid for me. The robotic monkeys have been repaired.

And Now the Text of the Cursed Book…

THE BOOK OF COUNTED SORROWS

An Inevitable Doom Press Publication

All rights vigorously reserved and viciously defended.

© 1928 by ” ”

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means

without permission in writing, in blood, from the publisher. Any

violation of this copyright will result in the violator being tracked

down by packs of spectacularly well-trained and utterly savage pigs

that will find you as easily as they would locate truffles if that

happened to be what they were trained to find.

These pigs will bite you on the ankles, kneecaps, and genitals until

you have been subdued, whereupon you will be conveyed to the proper

authorities to be executed, convicted, and put on trial, in that order.

PUBLISHER’S DISCLAIMER:

Inevitable Doom Press hereby warns all readers of the possibility of

insanity or violent death resulting from the reading of these verses.

You may also suffer headaches, halitosis, hoof-and-mouth disease,

dizziness, failure to achieve dizziness when dizziness is desired,

bleeding from hair follicles, the unexplained cancellation of

subscriptions that are dear to you, hives, rashes, boils, inflamed

earlobes, the sudden growth of a second head, bad weather, colossal

flatulence, the compulsion to insist that your name is Igor when you

know perfectly well this isn’t true, the unwanted romantic attention

of cats, blisters, and the growth of eye hair.

Table of Contents

One Door Away From Heaven

Neither Do They Fade Away

In the Fields of Life

The Weight

The Train Leaves the Station

A Delicious Walk

Habit Makes Destiny

Pedal to the Metal

Remembering When We Didn’t Expect to Live Forever

A Roundness

Remembered Dreams

Academic and Novelist as Abbott and Costello

The Chain

Short Story

The Modern Age

Wee Wisdom

This Old Honkytonk of Fools

Cold Fire

Whom You Might Trust

1992

Men on White Horses

Crossing Nevada

Melodrama

Busy Humanity

Kiss

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Winter Moon

The Mask

Reality

The Answer Comes After the Funeral

Drummer

Potboiler

Saving Graces Politics

Ten Years Old, Reading in Bed

Fallen Yet Not Lacking in Virtue

February, 1969

We Are All So Modern Here

All Those Snappy Epigrams on the Theme of Night

Anthem

A Thought While Reading Rex Stout

Cry Doom

Dragon Tears

Cold Questions

Mary Shelley, No One Listens

A Job May Not Be Enough

The Root of All Mystery

Haiku

Where God Goes on Vacation

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening with Exploding Heads: A Tribute in Verse to Robert Frost

About The Author

Dedication

To the doomed. To the forgotten. To the misunderstood. To the misbegotten.

To the doomed and forgotten misbegotten who have been frequently

misunderstood. To the melancholy, the lonely, the lost, the weary, the

hopelessly anguished, the bitterly distraught, the terminally

cranky, the ferociously depressed, and the seethingly disinterested.

Also to Uncle Mort and Aunt Clara: Thanks for the homemade muffins.

One Door Away From Heaven

One door away from Heaven,

We live each day and hour.

One door away from Heaven,

But it lies beyond our power

To open the door to Heaven,

And enter when we choose.

One door away from Heaven,

And the key is ours to lose.

One door away from Heaven,

But, oh, the entry dues.

One door away from Heaven,

And yet we sing the blues.

One door away from Heaven,

We live each day and night.

One door away from Heaven

Is such a perilous height,

A long fall from the doorstep,

If we can’t tell wrong from right.

Neither Do They Fade Away

Elvis is dead but spotted in Biloxi,

In Nashville, Corpus Christi. He’s got moxie

To be dead vet movie-going at the Roxie,

Still sticking to this world as if epoxied.

Glimpsed in a pink Caddy there in Biloxi,

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