I look at you, you look at me.
You cannot look away.
You wonder if the state I’m in
Is really quite ok.
You probably think I’m crazy.
Maybe you think I’m brave?
Whatever you think I won’t say no
So join me like you clearly crave.
I’m flattered kindly stranger
But join you I cannot
For the state you’re in repels me
And I am very both’red and hot.
I’m sorry I’m repellant
But search your feelings. You know it’s true…
If I can play the piano naked on the sidewalk
Then doubtless, so can you!
I have a fountain on my porch.
It’s one I never bought.
I have a fountain in my truck
That, on the road, I caught.
I’ve got twelve fountains all in all.
New ones turn up now and then.
I keep them safe in my back yard,
Within my fountain pen.
Cute and lively,
Covered in hair,
Running and screaming
A long fur coat
And her tongue out at me
In the hotel bar:
My wife to be.
Three wisemen sat on a log,
In contemplation of a bog.
The first wiseman said “if you will,
“Take a look at the rise of the hill.
“See its gentle, curving side
“Not so unlike my long-lost bride.”
The second wiseman inclined his head
To graying waters, and he said
“Think about this water, rife
“With pestilence, and yet with life.”
The third wiseman felt all alone
As he sat staring at his phone.
He wanted Christmas poetry,
Yet found the Daily Travesty.
The first wiseman, nostalgia found.
The second wiseman almost drowned.
The third wiseman followed the blog
As he sat with the others on a log.
The bog itself was still, unchanged.
This poem, however, is deranged.