Thursday, October 6, 2016

Scalene... why can't you be true?

So it is written in the sonnets and beholden from the stars
that a scalene with an eye, projects the life on mars...

quite possibly dead, don't you think?
An eye for and eye and a tooth with a chink
of gold... or a story once told that is dead as
a doornail or quiet as a church mouse
never mind, as the storm moves closer
i will shut my mouth... ahem.

Folks we're at it again, and it won't go away
with some winds or a flood, the story goes
inward to the heat of the blood, it's relative
don't you see, the heart of the matter is the you
and the meme... or so it would seem.

A mission is part of the plan, to deny is to
bury good thoughts in the sand, which is blowing
into my jaded eyes... Oh, it's that old trickster and
he's wearing disguise, it's just sand in my eyes.

Quick, like a silver streak only for a glance or
a peek, an isoscalese in the wake, well hells bells
we should all order cake and be done with the past,
the die has been thrown and the future is cast.

Done, done. doner... said a ghost to a wanderer.

The eye of a storm is alive in feeder bands,
just like the disaster of Custer's last stand.

A scalene is what was planned, an isosceles
is what's in demand. A triangle will travel
for sure, not dependent on anyone's word.

A bird told me what might be true, but the
clouds convinced me that what I think will
come true. Oh scalene, why could't you be true?

I soss o lease,  wee are waitin on you.

Tis true.

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