I don't
Have the
Energy
Nor the
Inclination
To wave
The flies
From
My face
They lick
Tears
From my
Eyes
Bloated
Crusted
From
Sleep free
Rest
And a
Food free
Diet
My continental
Drift
Has drifted
Too far
Through
The cracks
Wiggley worms
Eat clean
My death
I double over
In the
Stabbing
Pain of
This life
All the
Care free
Villagers
Wander past
And I
Return
To dust
1 comment:
Ouch...I hate feeling like that. I like the way you fit the form of the poem to the name. Excellent work, as usual!
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