While snarkers strive with proud but fruitless disdain Wounded immortals try the slaying of the slain Quit beating the dead metaphor let it go and watch it roll down hill
indonesian beaches and
days of infinite hunger
drunk and repellent
I am again
there’s no time for fishy flattery
'cause god called a horseman
flogging a dead horse
outlaw of the oscillation nation
playing with matches
by the gas-works
and I have this foreboding
of foreign foods
and fishmonger hooks
When I start learning English grammar,
My heart falters and my tongue tremors.
An amorous poem, When I wrote,
People don't like, don't even quote ,
Standing, sitting, or sleeping, my heart disabuses,
Brain from the idle thoughts and misuses,
Of noun, pronoun, adverb, and adjective,
So I feel fine with a sane state of subjective,
Learning lexicon and vocabulary,
An imperceptible approach to disarray,
It seems I am flogging a dead horse,
But it's not like cramming morse,
The more I learn about this exotic,
Dialect and accent which makes dramatic,
Whole German, French, and Latin compound,
Is this chemistry or seems a latent sound,
All my senses now take part in this chemical reaction.
To read, listen, write, and speak with utmost correction,
English itself is a math, physics, and chemistry,
A science of linguistics and a science of mystery.
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