A Stream-of-Consciousness Never Runs Dry…


My tongue cuts

Like a spoon;

And I am the goon 

Who put the loon

Into lunar

(But ‘loon’ spelled L.U.N.E)

I would have done it sooner

But, I didn’t, you see

Or maybe you don’t.
Some of my rhymes

Are like old pastimes

And good company

Some are like wet Wednesdays

And custard that is lumpy

Some are dressed up

And still feel clumpy

Or bumpy

Or (thinks for a second)


Like an old car’s oil-sumpy

Or sumpything like that.
Anyway, I have said enough

Or too much

Or not enough…

So, I shall cease



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