Phew!
Your eyes foggy dim
tear-wells brim
as unspeakable pain stabs
our forgotten dreams
devoured by reality's ugly underbelly
unraveling at the seams;
surreal peals of forced laughter
belies the curriculum vitae of your astrological classification
as being too shallow
for to dip my feeling of exploratory admiration,
(or say, uninhibitedly wallow?),
risking to stub my tender toes of lost direction
on shoals of defective coordinates
misplaced by emanating affection
brazenly plagiarized to avoid detection
just in case the mutual infection
spreads beyond control:
Ugh! Lord forbid such idiosyncrasy,
we extrapolate to be
exempt from stillborn creativity;
this is fleshly rot:
but then again, why not?
