Were it a time of day
And we a natural feature
It would liken us to feel
A passive emotion.
So ere it be
That words long forgotten
Exfoliate our mutual conditions
To clarify depth and artistry.
Whosoever feels
By and large unfeeling
Throws the mercy upon themselves
To the black asp of memory
And by such consumption
Your consciousness neglects
That this poem is really
A fart joke by a PhD.
The Daily Travesty 