Tales of the Pragmatic Pretender
There is a high block,
A bending vanity,
As I splurge in the cellular
Dysfunction of the disapproved.
Assemble me, my parts swift up
Like a robotic tendency,
And I cast asleep
The sorrow of my disposition.
I am a channel,
A bolted up medium
And I can swallow little a ghoul more
Than the intake of my discharge.
Sip me down,
I, supple dilettante,
In the shrew confuse
Of remedy’s dawn.
August 2015
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