ODE TO MARTIN HEIDEGGER
SIR RUN RUN SHAW
From the Upanishads of Dread
In what dreadful dolor do you feel the trigger?
What gape of boredom with each one bigger
Than the other is a reminder that the chigger
which devours you in the pores of your vigour
Is a paranormal Martin Heidegger-digger.
We know Wittgenstein was a bit of a bugger,
And we know Dylan Thomas was a flailing chugger
Of stout, and whiskey, but in his rage, a slugger
A poet given oft to a Welsh skulldugger,
Or a late night in alleyways to fleece a mugger..
But of what import to an Heidegger blogger?
I’ll tell you what, don’t mind the pettyfogger,
You can treatise the issue or put in dogger-
el, then stripe your bum with a pizzle flogger.
And, self-flapdoodle into a dreadful grogger..
Oh, stubborn, mirthless queen of Ogres.
And one so cheap, on sale at Kroger’s.
Do not slip woe as wage for Voguers,
Nor sell cigars you claim are Cubers.
Defy me not, I am armed with tubers,
And, if not, I’m ever plied with goobers.