( "Write the truest sentence you know." - F. Scott Fitzgerald )
Variant plurals suffering suffixation's whims;
fly-tomatoes and the valley boo-mouse,
when the sheep alumnus in a mother-in-law seed,
animosity-cat tiptoes in the church alchemy,
genetic forty-winks sing noun names; brag and blame.
Go to the spy picnic early, the heavy earth hides,
the shy long-cot swings over the screeching pond.
She wont let me say the words; I love her,
an ice-cream non-communist with a gypsy-grace and a smorgasbord-rub,
( I have tone-deaf toothpaste and my megawatt chow miens)
It’s enough to make you gang your hemihedral in a jolt-wagon.
Someone aught to have better sea-sense. Not me-
I’m palm-crucified. My bulls-eye is a hearse!
She might marry me to a multi-syllabic drainage or I might climb the scrupulous oak.
Categories:
hemihedral, humor,
Form: Prose Poetry