An alto.
Singer in the choir.
A face in the crowd.
But not.

The Alto.
Every eye sticks to her like glue.
The face of the crowd.
And so.

I thought I saw
Late one night
Obsequious in
Voluminous light
Emotionally distressed
Your tears cascading, shining bright
Opposed to black mascara left in
Unscripted tracks down your face.

My demons swim.
George's can fly.
Mabel's can shoot
Jimmy's won't die.

My sorrows are deeper.
Judy's weigh more.
Fred's chained him up.
Anne's heart was tore.

I can breathe lighter.
(Ah, that's where you win
From the contest of sorrows
One cannot rescind.)

Whose pizza here, I do not know.
He's partying in the dorm below;
I do not think that he would mind
Me taking seven slices home.

I met your little sister
On my walk home from school.
Told her I was a dancer
She thought that's pretty cool.
She wore your little jacket
From those days which we so loved
The slice of you returned to me
But, like with the whole, I stood idly.
Only you have slipped through my hands
Twice.

This is the body,
The meter is the heart.
The wordsmith, ever godly,
Looks nothing like his art.

If the heart guards love and purity,
And the brain controls intellect,
What doth, I ask of you, reside within the kidney?

Not rhyme, nor reason, asketh thee,
('Tis true, I must confess) but why
Deny its place to the kidney?

Power embodied in the arms, you'd see
Within a man, immediately,
But it seems, unfortunately,
That none respect the kidney!

For wherein doth cleanliness stay?
Surely in the mind somewhere, shorely lock'd away
And what of pride and greed, if I may,
Inquire where they rest today?

They lie in the foul'd heart, entombed for eternity.
So what attribute, dear reader, can attribute
A shrine within the kidney?