My Dude’s Doppelganger

This was made for the generations,

Like the creamiest malt.


From the cherry nipping apparatus

Can you see the bugling brasses,

Prancing viola playing lasses,

Chimneyswept vesper flashes?

Is that really me? Could it be my fault?


To the ashes,

Topaz eyelashes.

Only diamonds of time

Well hope to exalt.


Smell is fell.

Ahh, nothing

and maybe a bit of soap.

The gearing vault.


An engine of a man

Ought never grind to total halt,


Until his ash in the pan

filters into my salt.


Harrison Gross, USA

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