If There’s Nonsense, Then There’s Sense (A True Story)
i spent the past four hours writing a piece
that soon turned to a piece
of crap
words of crap, phrases of crap, heck,
i knew it was doom
when it all devolved into rap
– put in the rhymes, put in the rhythm
it’s all about the chimes and the m*th*f*ck*n’ Schism –
when the commas looked like fleas
jumping from line to line,
when the question mark was Death’s scythe
(deathly white, with that carnuba shine)
when the periods were puddles of roach poop,
when the a, b, c, to z
were a putrid hieroglyph soup.
slapping my face in vexation, the pimple goes pop
it hurts, but not really,
only if you slash the wound
with a pen, and use the same pen
to write a disaster waiting to
happen
(DING! shameless rhyme!)
trying to make treasure from trash?
impossible, but only if the pus remains on the face
because you didn’t wash
(if impossible has a “but”,
then is it entirely possible
that impossible is
possible?)
put in the rhythm, put in the rhyme
it doesn’t matter if this chatter is just for
the (mean)time!
5:52 AM
September 22, 2006
*This piece was written by Ronald the Duck. Absolutely. That’s my laptop, and I seriously doubt it that you mistook the duck as the Corsarius. And yeah, that cussword is without asterisks in the final version.
