We are just words that sing upon the page,

                                       but some never touch.
Singing in our thoughts.

Repetitive and with meaning, but never
                       do we write a word for us to cling too.


Always humming that repetitive metaphorical tune,
                          that  completes a hum down the line
                                  to a verbose culmination


and we still hum it even now further down the line.

We ponder upon the emotions and metaphors
                                    of the meaning of forever.

Is it our wording our voice, is it a single verse sang
                            within tune with out a tune

that holds our meaning to the here after.

What is out contribution,

      do we sing or justly fade.

For we weren't a stepping stone,
               but a pebble that got buried in the sand.

Now but lost in the footsteps that never even felt us.

A squirrel offered me
              a *******.

But just fondled my
            Nuts the whole time ..

I'm Covid safe,
                when I *******.

I use a  Dettol Wet wipe,
  kills 99.6% cheese...


And 99.99% Covid

   stay safe you wankers...

I ******* words
     And *******
    
.     Stanzas..


And my *** face
      Is the ecstacy

Of the pleasurable
        After thought.

Is anyone else hungry...

She ad this hobby fishing with
    A pole.
      No worms wanted

Dats a fact.

I played it cool rod in da pond,
  That became a pool.

Those
  Waves splashing out.
     Rod didn't catch nything..

But the fish were swimming
    Deep now.  

And we just smiled,
       Who need bait

When the rod catches

    Her every time.

A poet is an insane asylum
     Of disfuctinal metaphors.

We're all a little crazy,
   How else could we


Write the things we do.