poetry corner 013 — what is it good for.

I’m sorry.                                  I’w sojjy.
I’m sorry.              I’w sojjy.
Sorry, not sorry.        Sojjy tou sojjy.
They say only the very talented die young.
I must not be talented enough yet.
I play with words as a small child plays with a dog;
There’s no chain of command, candidly speaking, pet.
Kindred, believing I was in possession of an arsenal
Is a kindness I cannot speak; there are no words.
“Static” is the only language beyond your reach,
You’re a cunning linguist, I was a master debater.
Minutia, minute by minute, I’ll spare you the details,
As best as my geography goes: close at most, to Wales.
And the city of water is too touristic, that’s fantastic.
By the by, we’ll find something romantic, less tragic.
Venus is blushing, oh the heavens for fend
Grave of time, whatever we spend.


(Can we mend?)

 

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