He hid behind the mask
Of prosaic normality
When all that he wanted
Was verbose absurdity
The words flew in
The thoughts flew out
The criticism hurt
So he'd smoke up and pout
Immature aspirations
Gilded his memories
Sharpening semicolons
Darkening apostrophes
He wanted to belch
All he did is breathe
A bouquet cannot
Become a wreath
The waffling ended
Sacrificed for the wrong
Purposes and yet
Survived for so long
Let out the vague
Bask in the blur
Who needs pleather
When you can flaunt fur?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
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