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Oct 2018
Ma wink'n and blink'n
     mind nod yet awake,
     nor insights keen,
asper ** hum usual, this
     (day-glo bull leave
     me you) after noon,
     (October thirtieth
     two thousand and eight teen),

mine myopic brown
     marbled occipital orbs
     fixate upon a
     lone blinking cursor -
     hooping such intense stare
     will magically glean
a divine comedy,
     or even mediocre

     shaky spear writ tragedy, none
     the less letting thoughts
     glom (cess) pool like
     into some elusive essence,
     finding me madly chasing
     (feebly, lamely, queerly
     and ridiculously
     likened to a teen

age paramour) intriguing,
     nattering, and wordlessly
     spellbinding notion
     all the way to Abilene,
     perhaps metamorphosing
    into a topnotch
     poem (ska lean),
swiftly tailored harried

     style even out rivaling
     the best newsy
     Lake Woebegone fabulist
     (formerly Nordic European)
scribes, that juiced might earn
     me some crisp
     legal tender green,
yet impetus to write,

     NOT predicated on ram
     ping up checking account,
     which primary queen
tis essential money source
     of mine to pay bills
     appears extremely lean,
and thus apologize if
     any hint of desperation

     (PULL EASE pledge to
     Matthew Scott Harris charity)
     seeps extemporaneously typing
     this poetic expression,
     when financial resources
     picked bone dry clean,
and me fanciful
     thoughts cannot help

     wishing for miraculous
     intervention tub bring,
     a raft of smiley faces
     tomb eye gentle mien
such as receiving
     an anonymous bajillion
     dollars donated (tummy)
     from tennis scene legend

     (in her own mind)
     aery Billy Jean
King, whose near
     exhaustive earnings -
     at least compared
     to thy germane mein kampf
     (accrued during - her mist
     starry re:us horse sing around)

     straw berry fields
     forever hay day
     with tangerine trees,
     and marmalade skies
     completing tennis
     (tense) backdrop against
     engendered match with
     the late Bobby Riggs.
Written by
matthew scott harris  64/M/schwenksville, penna
(64/M/schwenksville, penna)   
95
 
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