I’m just a clown
When it comes to the rhyme
Fooling around
Outside of the lines
The crunching of crayons
Flipping of dimes
In deep conversation
With dozens of mimes

Muddied in mayhem
Past the mundane
With the frequent du jour
Over easy, half baked
Shooting for early
I settle on late
Paying my dues
In crazy ways

Setting to rhyme
Whatever poops in my mind
Now there’s a freudian slip
At the perfect time
It’s no secret kept
Should have said pop instead
But I’ve run short on words
And that’s all I have left