Me not can have been drinking on the rambling of journal typing.
My drunken ramblings need a rambulance. I need some iambic pentamedics to change the feet in my mouth and inches I wish I was doing more with into poetic meters. I need a metric revolution and a rhyme pattern that’s more than a scheme. My life has become ad-verse. Lines of predictable rhythm with a lot of A-B but no Z. I’m a funny guy and no mistake but I’m also here to tell you that the shortest distance between two points is not a punchline. I am a series of George Co-stanzas building up to a coarse chorus to take it to the rope bridge. For this, I entreat the muses;
Hear my cry. Turn my tongue to silver. Let the metal give me mettle. Let words of pure meaning slip with effortless manufacture into diligent, pliant ears. Let my quest for perfection in any area be smothered under attention, activity and fun. Let my endless sprint away from myself become a marathon that I run side by side with my newly smiling soul born of smooth delivery.
I want to drool honey all over the senses of women I respect while I’m looking up to them. I want my speech to be eager music, inciting a riot of bondage-breaking passion from every target. I want to weave spells that restore youth and agility to all.
I want to create and give it life.
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Hear my cry. Turn my tongue to silver. Let the metal give me mettle. Let words of pure meaning slip with effortless manufacture into diligent, pliant ears. Let my quest for perfection in any area be smothered under attention, activity and fun. Let my endless sprint away from myself become a marathon that I run side by side with my newly smiling soul born of smooth delivery.
I want to drool honey all over the senses of women I respect while I’m looking up to them. I want my speech to be eager music, inciting a riot of bondage-breaking passion from every target. I want to weave spells that restore youth and agility to all.
I want to create and give it life.
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