Untitled

Untitled

I find the sentiment
deep in essence
mindful of the curb
I yield to annoyance

My wishes determine
my life unamusing
If canes be able
my thoughts I'm recusing

So here is that life
weak, subterranean
burnish him I will
the nearest Iranian

Middle East be damned
primitive, medieval
my spirit goes elsewhere
impulses primeval

I feel all the light
the dark is good withal
It really matters not
some fate will befall

A good one no doubt
much pleasure to come
if not then more dolar
to sadness succumb

a star looks disdanely
felicity be damned
her hair, her distinction
a mess, out of hand

Whales give elation
blowholes breathe life
wheel of sentience
gaze on their strife

Not breathing or voiced
then where will they go
man douses their joy
with plenteous cousteau

I yield to the sentiment
naysayers laconic
my memories soothe me
working mnemonic.


(a work in progress)