Poetry

I feel you up, for hours at a time. With two hands I grip you firmly. Oh, what a myth, “bedtime.” You’'re part of my favorite pastime, And I'’m wounded I use you so stupidly. I feel you up, for hours at a time. I gaze upon you in the meantime, Your square, ex, triangle, and circle...

Beauty and mystery war with it all. That banging beat has everybody boogying, If not busting a move. Am I the only one dancing alone? My friends flout the freaky fellas, If not all of them in the last few hours. The scene is slightly disgusting, and yet amusing. I realized it reminded me...

My citizens, I have enjoyed being the leader of this republic. Yet you slander me. Never have I acted outside upright morals. I shall prove your negligence. I was doing what I could. My beak sought each twig To shelter you from the foxes, those tyrants. I nurtured you and slowly you...