You know, the dog hasn’t licked my face in a while.

Oh, the alarm. A full facial assault. Itchy cheek, itchy brow… I mean… the itch footprint now. It could be hair. Cat hair everywhere. Well, anywhere cat hair might blow from one’s nose. But I’m all outta f$&ks and all done scratchin’ bros.

Now it feels there’s a hair, a hair somewhere up there. A cat hair I suppose, from my lips the wind blows ‘cause I said what I said and ain’t scratchin’ my nose.

Today was the day I breathed itches away and those bitches be back so my lungs I’ll repack.

Oh, little doggie,
Is it that you nap for me?
Do I nap for thee?

If it feels robotic, try slowing the tempo. It’s easier to fit in the fills. The old tempo gets you there faster. This new tempo has all the frills.

Was it funny?
I don’t know
But I’m f$&king betting so
If it weren’t just let me go
I’ll find someone who gets it broooooo

(Best guess would be my subconscious is staging a musical)

Everyone that takes a run
Will peter out perplexed
And walk away
Empty encounters
These aren’t any fun
Rigidity rejects
My child’s play

The problem I have faced for years is that no passing glance could ever possibly absorb enough of me to keep up with conversational connectivity.

Or, if you prefer a haiku:

No passing glance can
Achieve conversational
Connectivity

When you’ve finally uncovered the ’ of the’.join(identity, mother, bastard) that Weird Al Yankovic has apparently parked in your head. It was My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.

Whatever
Whatever
I won’t do what you sayyyy ‘Cause I don’tt want to
Your barking
It’s precious
I’ll ignore anyway
‘Cause I don’t want this Behavior reinforced by meee

I suppose I could paper my walls with my arts
Spend the rest of the day locked away trapping farts

It’s around three deep
That it becomes difficult
To discern the stink

So, is my phone my watch yet?
Or, is my watch my phone?
Now, is it that I’m meant to feel
More
Or less
Alone?

Porcelaindrycally powered poetic fart manifest
Style: Musical
Concept: I’d bet my dentist knows best

Slow is fast
Blunt is sharp
You can always choose to skip the arc

Got a stop and go soul
With a head like a hole
Rezner would die before passing control

If it looks better than it sounds, then what of the human ear?
Why do we like what we see so much better than what we hear?

Those following along at home will have to imagine the construction because I am not getting up.

The birds on the screen make a scene most serene as they squable for peanuts that mean everything, when the snow’s a foot deep their ain’t no time to preen.

Caught with the dog in my lap in a nap ears aflap gently breathing with airway soft tissue clap.

When your books are decorations and construction vibrations light up synapses like holiday decorations

When, as the victor
You cling to resistor
What you resist
Is governance
Vive la résistance

When your poetic fart is a No Doubt parody

Don’t speak
They won’t get what you’re sayin’
Don’t bother with explainin’
‘Cause all they’ll hear are words

The book in my head
Won’t fall out when I’m dead

They die with me, then
All those things I could have said

Christ on a cracker
How many fucking haiku
Have I written now?