June 18, 2008
The act of festination,
In all creastion,
Has little relation,
To anything common sensical,
Look it as rather nonsensical.
‘Tis an out of time body,
A feverish frame of mind,
Amid a nation of uncoordination,
Wherein the pickled feet wind,
Let me tell my story afore it gets gory,
The body in search of equilbrium,
Tries to match forward motion of upper story,
But like the Indian said, “They don’t agree’um,
So, like a Danse Macbre,
The body, continues to weavw and bob,
Oft ending face down, a bloody blob.
Try that on a stair case. huh ?