Gentlemen,
I’ve a tisket,
Tasket,
Whole pic-i-nic basket,
Yogi or BooBoo,
Taking Literary Legends,
Smashing them like atoms,
Into 1900s Zeitgeists.
My Poems Are More –
Than 168 In Number.
Free Verse,
Unshackled,
Unlike A Sonnet,
Or Limerick.
No Letters Per Line,
To Rhyme By,
Like Fucking Children.
“God rest you merry”
