POG RECITES A POEM WHICH HE DEDICATES TO GOMEY AND GOMEY ANSWERS WITH A POEM WHICH DOES NOT

The door is closed, the door is open.
The window sash is fucking broken.
The door, the sash,
the sash and then the door.
The one so open,
the other so fucking broken.

Do you like tangerines?
A small callow fever?
Did the lion pause outside your door?
Has a halo fallen upon
your future corpse,
livid as the worm?

I shall treat you to a coffee.
It is Ash Wednesday,
whatever that means.
I shall treat you to the dream of some bagel.
Of course, the mug is yours to bring.
In what season? In what war?
I don’t know.
I only know
I don’t
know. I never did,
though once upon a time
I surely did.

By practice, or practices.
By an insistence on fire,
even in rain.
The lions outside in the rain.
The window sash remains undone,
in the Unreal City your only friend!

Did you appreciate your time spent?
Were you anxious above the roiling deep?
How much money sputtered in your hand?
Were you finally put to sleep?

O rain come down upon these bags
that breathe like heavy monsters!
O rain for Pog, rain for Gomey!
Rain for useless shit-face Gomey!
But mostly rain for Pog!