writing marmadukes epitaph in animated nightmares
i who have chewed words like jerky
spitting into spitoons of golden suns
enveloping the march hair growing oblong
sing to you this short obtuse song:
'shatter the night with pitched forks
and let the air breath in the truffle
snowmen bake under skies of sweat
but joy can only be found 'neath your ruffle'
'kick the beat with two left feet
standing in boots of spanish leather
whilst the lone stranger keeps his pony
under his bed during inclement weather'
this is no reason to take up space
as cyber as it may appear
but days runneth by and so do i.