THE DREADED SLOWING DOWN DISEASE…

Usually on weekends,

I find myself inundated,

with ideas for poems,

and writes, having no ends.

but this weekend, maybe I need a break,

my mind is numb, maybe from the fear,

of what Kate & her minions will send here,

in sometime of my not knowing when,

she will send her two already dead men,

to put the fear of the Madame serial killer,

in my head whilst I sleep & dream of Phyllis diller.

That would surely be enough to put a fearful dream,

into my usually un-fitful slumber,

but if I am nice, do ya think I can get out from under,

this terrible feeling of dread,

that seems to pervade my very head,

the one on my shoulders, not in my pants, oh goodness, I’m dead.

okay so maybe that is why I am slowing down,

instead of a poem to attack the writer and his pooch,

she & her subjects are sending from Canada,

Vibes to make me desirous of again re-tasting the dreaded hooch,

that I have, thus far, for 20 or so years, been able to stop sipping.

So here I sit, on my throne of poop, came to shit and only farted,

I know I did not initially write that line, but it seemed to fit herein,

hope the poet of the fart that initially wrote it will give me leeway,

Or maybe I must find myself a clear seaway,

to run far and away,

from Kate & her scary minions, from doing “virtual” harm to myself & Rufuz.

                                                                        (ed)