Bob, your poem reminds me that pain causes insanity
.
Well, this isn't the place for crits (or else I might mention your penultimate stanza as being the easily improvable one), so here are a few quick copy and pastes from my Soon to be Submitted (But Where?) File:
Luigi Pirandello
did not care for yellow;
he rushed to and fro
if one ordered Pernod.
Federico Garcia Lorca
was allergic to pork; a
faulty diagnosis
said he had trichinosis.
Frank R. O’Hara
kept his date with samsara;
it’s when sleeping on beaches
that a poet overreaches.
Beatle John Lennon
studied his zen an’
soon understood Yoko
had always been loco.
Neil Young
was coming unstrung.
All of his back-ups
were headed for crack-ups.
Federico Garcia Lorca
wrote a play in Majorca
in which Salvador Dali
played an ingénue in Bali.
Emmett Grogan
erected a Hogan
built out of granola
and rose hips acerola.
Morgan Le Fay
made a fast getaway
when an innocent idyll
ended up homicidal.
Mad Monk Rasputin
could digest only gluten;
to serve him a shashlik
was rash and impolitic.
Terese