When Nothing Gray Matters

ain’t it strange the human brain ~ as an organ itself can feel no pain stab it slice it smash it to bits ~ will feel not a thing but spasm and fit yet brains process that nagging itch ~ formication to be filthy rich stroke of luck for pain unfelt ~ crawling sensation of poor bards wealth from tics and twitches to iou’s ~ this rhymester pays his monthly dues By David Kavanagh