A Personal Attack
Now if I shoot at you with live ammo that's personal,
Words just don't hack it, most thoughts too bizarre
To attribute to anything short of dementia,
With colors that dribble, fake tears! Spayed guitar!
Sounds so high strung with guts, from such different cats,
Tones all bounce off life’s rails more like temper’s distemper.
What cue ball can't sink are your colors to choose,
But consider largesse to be caveat emptor.
The precision you see here's designed to confuse you,
For order is something most men can't abide,
But the devil take foremost, ‘who’s first,’ most deserving
A cinch that there's nothing to trump – more than pride!
June 2nd in 2019
Copyright © Roof Missing | Year Posted 2019
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