On my platter with a clatter
Two bones on a boom bock
I ask what is matter?
A madder ***** or a matador
Each clink we link some sink to
Thy rink instinct a pool of you

What word is a word to us we are heard
A blade is made to hurt and to harm
But buried under concrete and dirt 1 mile deep under the farm
Bleating and singing a pasture so far
These are my narcissistic charm
And to you a system so sweet and so warm
On lit little wings these thoughts I will swarm

Be it a beauty
Possibly just snooty
Vox and a cutie
Send me b-movie

Run to it a witch to my gears, two years to attend a ten for eight tenths too
Like roaming
Like months make years make celibacy to voices to men and women
Like the saying, if not for my scream, would you hear my voice?
And given the choice, to the sarcastic back slap while stuck in mid clap
I would stay in a row by rowing real rivers there need not be another silver sold me the giver
In spite, I say nothing, but in anger I give less and less and less
What birch tree would we be buried in to sell a sigh and not in jest
I wish my words were food, because then you would ingest
This…is my only gift…to infest
Thank you