to-day I sat in a slim line chair
in which I was made aware
of the size of my posterior's pear

it drooped over the sides of the seat
and it didn't look orderly or neat

a not so subtle message
my buns have relayed to me
they've said that they are
a little too hefty

I'm making a belated
New Years resolution
which is to seek an answer
to my tails expansive evolution

being unable to place
my posterior in a chair
is truly a most
wretched affair

Sweet is the night, devoid of the rush and bustle,
Devoid of daylight's struggle and brutal hustle,
And my fear as through dark alleys I go run, running

Sweet is the night, devoid of the crush and muscle
Of a thousand bodies, and their compressed sadness weighing

Sweet is the night, silent is God's nocturnal music
Like a river, the darkness is, and soothing
Black like the cosmos ever moving
Sleek like the slippery silver surface
Of the dream webs of my mind

All content, we do not scream
Or through need of the bold, tread hard
At night we tiptoe a poet's ballet
And sing hushed rhythms like a heart's song pumping