A Crap Load of Poems
One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-three
That's a crap load of poems I've scribed
Still got that many and a whole bunch more
You might think I silently imbibe
Don't need no joy juice to write these gems
They literally flow without ceasing
Can't keep my fingers quite limber enough
Also get a signal from my wee thing
Must pay attention when old nature calls
It's time for a trip to the toidy
Or I run the risk of total embarrassment
And wind up with my undies all moisty
Don't dare get it checked might find I need help
“but I'm totally normal” I protest
“That's not what this CT scan has shown us
It's exactly what we had guessed”
Likely gone loopy in the noggin it appears
I've finally gone over the edge
Tumbling headlong into the scary unknown
Ready for whatever lies ahead
© Jack Ellison 2015
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015
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