My Old Friend Soli

Wandering wayward wherever
Floating adrift—afloat on South Sea
Sauntering with my friend Solitude
Having had found a good coast on Freedom Isles
Had seen a slanted eye peering through a vessel
Lo, what a shorthand scat he could be!
And thus I stroll once more afloat—adrift on the West Sea
While chitchatting to good old friend Soli:
— Quiero sus gran platanos, quoth he
Neither did fishes aswim beneath the disputed rinds
Rebuff nor even understand this magical—
Not as majestic as my enlarged fruit—remark
From this wonderfully deranged queer
To whom I never really wanted to stroll with
And before I indulge myself with gluts of self-defeat
O Liberty, no heightened choice could have sullied thee!
What deliberate crimes have done through your name!
Forgive me for I have not chosen thee!
And to choose not choices but to have not!
Not a faint chance, not a minute chance to decide
Picking one’s fate I have had built mine not to!