There once were some megastar thrones
Unfazed by infirm sticks and stones
From each pedestaled perch
Few got left in the lurch
Feeling way beyond reach in their bones
Poems
There once was some Sunday school prose
Cult lingo the lord only knows
Like Pavlovian dogs
Chasing Twainian frogs
Dressed up in the emperor's clothes
I'm penning poem now
I'm writing ode rhymes
my re-versed creativity
makes a well lyric time
You write one
and I'll pen another
Let's make poems
until the end, my brother
I'll thank my mom and dad
for the life they gave me
Until it's time to go
I'll thank my lucky stars
Staying grateful for every
one of my numbered days
Until it's time to go
I know my day is coming
My time to leave will be here
much sooner than I think
It won't be easy to go
Letting the universe
take me back to that
place I was before
my parents made me
I'll thank them everyday
Until it's time to go
I don't want to go in January
seems pretty cold to me now
February feels slightly better
but still a tad early for plows
I'm not so crazy 'bout March
winter her girl before spring
if I can get closer to summer
I might be living my dreams
April or May are my maybes
June July August rank must
yet I go by lark until autumn
I stay as the fall's frosty dust
Brain dope
Makes us feel alive
Elevates our drive
Soft-soaps us to thrive
Helps us to survive
Brain dope
Turns us into fiends
Dirtbags to be cleaned
Sickies to be screened
Zombies quarantined
Brain dope
Gives us what we need
Alibis for greed
Sole survivor seed
Self-extinction creed
A corporation doesn't feel love
don't dare to think that it does!
I love bad brain
bad brain good!
Making me-me
'tis as it should!
Prose 'tis the foreplay
poetry stokes orgasm
All coming and going
ejaculates my fathom
I got a bad brain
From some junk DNA
It pricks at my mind
Like a needle in hay
My bad brain thinks hard
With a mind of its own
It tells me to leave
To be sad and alone
I got a bad brain
Flawed till death do us part
It mucks up my life
With regrets a la carte
I got a bad brain
But I've learned what to do
It gives me faint hope
Fresh as moist morning dew
Typo and Hypo,
literacy art font
going 'tis easier
tie-dying haiku
Twin trowelers,
poesy sculptors
writers of verse
undoubtably go
