(any resemblance between this poem, and living persons...iz purely coincidental.)
Ruthlessly abuzz in my mind loosed another idea for a poem asper (wren) this wordsmith first awoke as if this burr bull ling gray matter of mine cur rage Hesse lee nearly figuratively drowned
awash with psychedelic fur, and by an inexplicable fate while holed up like an atheist fox in metaphorical imaginary Alsace Lorraine booth them aye hands needed to brace against being whip lashed
compromising meat, who cut to the chase hurriedly beef **** twittering black crows didst erase finding yours truly short shrift head aghast count tin ants (marching one by one hoorah...) etching mortality against
(hill reed) duff figurative staring in face o' mine, yet with chutzpah, fortitude, and intrepid amazing grace did man age with the likes of one named Horace aye trumpeted (while donning sateen pink “i hate gull
hubble buoys” frilly lace) to quickly (in quasi Jackson *******) slap dash nod duh soundcloud issued munitions along Somme hum battle creek King Kong a mace swing change of
good fortune did (Patton Lee) didst Rob Zombie place pitting (and/or pitying) a critical (Weeknd updated) race against father time hood handily did trace, what appeared tubby my bloom
ming dog gone cat tis strophic (through-composed) doom suddenly by quirk of poetic license of Matthew Scott Harris did suddenly groom salvation when suddenly out of the thick (smoky intermittently clear
mountain) thin air (Ta DaVinci) Vita man arrived juiced in the nick (knack paddy whack...a mole) of mere minutes to spare, whence immediately after veer really gulping, (nee emptying) a multi year
supply - downing entire contents lear rook hilly visibly rippling trachea (tricky ya) ying ma ha ha esophagus of pill furred (courtesy of peristalsis) essential (placebo) body mineral nutriments dare ring (ala Popeye
The Sailor Man) dozen plus bottled blithely ignoring skull and cross bones (bier) beware, when instantaneously muscles bulged nsync as nostril didst flair visa discover ring how
whipping, shaking, and lashing my wet hair (actually no Chuck - wag'n - Norse lie) my **** thud used to dry sham pooed thinning mane - jar - yea...yea...go head 'n jeer
at this peculiarity of mine e'en if bald, aye would boldly, (sans this creature of habit) shake pate gnome hatter how queer!