No Humor…

No humor have I to give you this eve,

I am really sorry but you don’t have to grieve,

I am just as upset as you, yes I do, I really feel peeved,

Maybe I should just take this poem with me and leave…

My humor gland is stuck shut, no longer open, sealed,

At least for tonight or as long as I feel like that of an eel,

What does an eel feel like you ask?

What business of yours is it, I scream through my death mask?

As always my brain works in cycles, as far as I am concerned,

Bicycles without chains, making my brain not able to turn,

Making competent conversation with a note of humor,

Unable to be attained, ordained or whatever the hell is the rumor…

Lost again in the fog of smoked brain on the hoof,

Not a very good meal, but a very good use of the roof,

But in the attic there is no good, as the brain did thereby disintegrate,

Crumbled and powdered brain, not a tasty treat, so better make my retreat…

            © ~poppywrittED ~ 7.17.2004