red cheeks heat cold tears--
open heart psychology
bloodlets winter cheer

so what disrupts requires that we select
with all due art the silver from the dross
taking no notice of what's on the boss
nor even caring truth must have effect
while each must go as their own hearts direct
with grant of knowledge given in the gloss
by those who count the plus side as a loss
for what we had is gone naught will connect
into the afternoon the buzzards plunge
upon the corpse of wisdom is their feast
where all is ended save the scent of dung
here is a sight that nothing could expunge
when hope and virtue have together ceased
and only curses rise from every tongue

Not about love or life.
Not about sun and snow.
Not about hate or politics.
What more ought we know.

Not philosophy, psychology or history.
Nor horror, adventure or mystery.
Whether on sea or land,
it will not stand
in the vast oak court of reality.

Gorgeous girls never flock to me
with my goofy grin and icy feet
Sure some pretty ones come
and talk to me
But I look inside and what
do I see?
Emptiness, some worries about
what people think and a thick
vein of vanity

Don't get me wrong, smooth skin
is nice and makes me think
of giving in, but where's the
beauty of a wrinkled brain?
Where is the darling charm
that comes from thinking?
Give me crows feet from years
of laughing
maybe some scars for kissing
and a stubborn idea or two
to keep me guessing

Because flawless hair is nothing
compared to a flawed but thoughtful
mind
and big chested, large rear-ended
doesn't have scratch on imaginative
and inventive
**** walks combined with hips
can't hold a match to intelligent words
pouring from chapped lips

So here's to hoping that
sometime soon, I'll get the chance
to stumble and fall into a
wrinkled brain romance