When words float toward mindfulness,
Evading more than red box bark,
Or recessives of doggerel’s lost beauty.
Mislaid letters sent ahead,
To fledglings who comprehend
Just pieces highly illuminated,
Stinking until tomorrow.
Arguments might flow
From points,
Softness, or in between,
Ineluctably.
Hence, while mangy mental wombats sing
Praises of well-turned prose,
I cringe, I hide, I decry things.
Copyright © K.J Hannah Greenberg 2009.
Copyright ©Bokah, Jerry Mayer 2009