Meditating carefully at the expense of his sanity,
Buford recollects a past life he wishes he never wished for,
That muddy reminiscence of a purgatory
More alien than he can remember remembering
He was
The Beluga Whale
Wished aloud and Washed ashore
Stomped on
By the children of Frisian Kings
He passively watched
In that halfway life
As they stomped his brains out
but His
soul remained on the beaches of Normandy
Centuries before eisenhower so artfully
Planned his invasion
his Soul looked on
through decades of madness:
Viking battles
Vicious rapes
and some nude wanderer receiving a Frisian Manscape
So tight and cold
Upon that frigid landscape
Flash forward
1983
Buford is born again the son of an automotive speculator
Stripped of his former enlightenment
And left out to dry on the sunbaked roof of a ford taurus
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