- Non-Erotic Poetry
- I, Me, Stomp
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I am ill.
Simple, short, and to the point.
Socially and politically correct.
But my angst is so bent out of joint.
Can’t make my mortgage,
can’t stomach my vittles.
My brother’s out of work,
our lives, a crush of uncaring riddles.
Praise to the lord,
we need another miracle.
But as the sinners that we are,
Our innocence…, an eroding pinnacle.
A shadow Christmas,
and the threat of losing all.
With no attempt to shelter kind,
with no pride, I fear a long fall.
The moral does not exist for this.
The crush is on its way once again.
So I stand before this punishment.
And once again, scream against the pain.
The Mystery Valiant
12-6-2000
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