Sonnet from the Porch de Grief

[fr_defenestrato]

Greg Wolford, cracking wise and breaking gay,
wrapped in a sheet and snoozing standing up
from too much smoky, nutty chardonnay
(or was it vodka?) from a sake cup;
Greg Wolford, blithely tagging Whitey’s walls
(well, metaphorically, at any rate)
and lobbing sophistries like tennis balls,
but never as a vehicle for hate:
Abrasive as that fuckpig daily got,
and notwithstanding jokes on death and AIDS,
Greg's [ho]modus vivendi[ckus] was not
in any sense injurious; his charades
were perfectly transparent—a neat trick
that’s worthy of its tagline: "Greg’s a dick."