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Too Much For Little Old Me

How many sides to a circle?
It depends on a peak bent.
Let the center untwirl.
Speak softly under the tent.

Politics is a bother
If someone’s out of step.
Have right foot catch up with the other.
Trip over the matter of fact.

Pure imagination gets you in trouble.
Betsy the Stripper will tell you how.
She’ll gather you up in her bubble.
While inside she’s Blueberry Sow.

When the obstruction’s over
we’ll gather all angles in one.
Square the circle and go further
up and down her curves of fun.

There is no ideal shape.
It’ s what we get used to.
Spread her out and then rape.
Call it our nature to argue.

And we’ll go on and on till she trembles.
The birth of woe in her sack.
We’ll tell her to hold on to Mumbles.
She’s about to give birth to my act.

And It could be an explosion.
Hot air to the core.
Rising up from erosion.
A model to explore.

Why did I ever love Betsy?
She’s too gamey in a gown.
Excessively rich and testy
she demands too much from a hound.

Published in Poetry