Haven’t written a poem in days
In fact never wrote a poem
A poem by its nature is perfect
If perfection is not arrived at,
A poem it wasn’t
Process pulls you in a plethora of
Bully ways, bullish ends
Ways and means committees
The song starts like that and not like
Too much coffee consumed,
Yesterday pizza pounding the temples
Of his body,
Who knows how harmonious
This can all get
Can it get wet
Can it stay dry
Is there a choice in the matter
I see there is a lot on your mind,
But is there anything in it?
I can’t imagine.
The horror of reality is
everpresent for those
who have eyes to see with.
-Umbrellicus Ginjericho Bizerko