Copyright Notice

Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

#41 Rummages in the id

You were laughing

And I was dying

You pierced my heart

Without even trying

*

The dancing bugs tapped away

Even as the sunlight faded

Evading the errant boot

To the fear becoming jaded

*

Little paw pots

Full of steaming ink blots

Harvested from wild squid

Hiding in your id.

*

Chasing all about

In a random room

Tripping over chairs

And smelling the occasional bloom.

*

So I saddle up my beaver

And get on the road

Searching for ponds of mud

To hunt the mighty toad.

*

I can't see beyond my own nose

Which was cut off to spite my face

So my nearsightedness doesn't matter

Nor my lack of grace.

No comments:

Post a Comment