(with a tip of the hat to Edward Lear)
My head exists in cyberspace.
My legs are on the couch.
My hands are in this notebook.
My tongue is pointing south.
My teeth are in the cemetery
Chewing on some gruel.
My brain is lost in rhyming land,
Repeating like a fool.
Between remorse and reason,
Beneath despair and dread,
Until the warmer season,
I'm farming in my head.
My words are cast in crayon,
Unlocking winsome doors.
My thoughts compete with fashion.
My dreams are keeping score.
Come dance with foolish poets
And greet them in the streets.
They bark like fish. They swim like dogs.
They dine on salted meats.
They force their invitations.
They ice skate in their socks.
They live off incantations
And die when they are mocked.
Good-bye! Good-bye! my leaping friend.
You cannot find your toes.
Your foolish song is at an end.
Your pen's cut off your nose.
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