2014 #213

it isn’t the perfect a true lover
loves; oh how contrary sentiments
when breathed befoul civilized sorts
meaning to only chill civilly
in a lounge run by the mellow
brand of ho-hum sage wanting along
with coin-carrying clientele
that all the clientele try

to relax – meaning a lecture
of that afore-noted stripe stinks
it is true – clearly; but it is also
a wrong far worse than hedonist
trespasses by humans whose flesh
may happen to lean weak for a few
favored dishes; be sure somewhere
some god is polishing marble


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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