As the great poet, Useff Michelangelo de Conigliari
once said, I’m a Byronite to the core, which doesn't mean
I resist the fins of opportunity to wink at the brim, to shoot
like a skylark through the ether of the 21st, so long as this
mortal coil remains coiled.
Useff entered therapy soon thereafter but was
exonerated as the oldest living one-celled on the
planet with extraordinary antennae diming interior
bulbs behind limousine’s white fox flowing past
coach window but, hell, Conigliari knew something
most of us didn't—Jesus seat-belted into Concord
on its way to Geneva to hand Useff the Rapscallion
Peace Prize for ripping bandages off the festering
wounds of the living.