Breakfast At Caeser's

BREAKFAST AT CAESER'S The brains of all the universe hide in the waste and cold of dark where thought can never make them worse and where they'll never leave their mark and never more take charge of man more than one time since time began. What follie's layed into your mind where kith is lost and dire in need as unborned failed to even find the spark of life on which to feed? Is being dumb come to be sin and so is cut the line that's thin? Dine on brahkwurst if you need fat but Caeser feels the constant need to have His pasta long and flat and sprinkled with pure mustard seed. And in your colon it may spread and freshen all that's in your head. Ah! Those are but the birds and bees! As welcomed as the day grows near, refreshing as an April breeze if it's the northern hemisphere, All time stands still until the tune Jesus is here, or coming soon. There's many slip twixt now and then and Caesers head is stamped on gold, he's gone to Palistine again to get away from damp and mold; and waste is waste upon the floor though left by one we'd all adore. If thought's upon your suicide in hope's the afterlife's more fun your disapointment can not hide no matter where your soul might run. And Caeser has his breakfast here two poached in hot Italian beer. © ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet