Caught by a dangling marsupial,
I was distracted by my surprise.
The participle of the perforated pupil,
floated submerged before my eyes.
Faced with a bloated structure,
I had the refuse of gorging all pies.
Lacking in laconic lackluster love,
alliterated to locate less lucid lies.
Sleep cast a lightning quick shadow,
but allegorically didn't have my size.
Forced into a sleepless star dance,
I tripped over many artificial tries.
Shot from a cannon's belly birth,
always wore explosive IUD ties.
Concerned about apostrophe knees,
I, we, they, you and occasional mys.
Stuck with the proverbial iconic its,
it's no wonder I get over its capitalize.
While the dangling marsupial hangs over me,
it's time for plural’s Is to say my bye-byes.
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2010 © Ronald W. Hull