So the object of
The rejection is to
Find someone who
Binds themselves to
A list of rules that are
Copacetic with what
My thick brain has
Sluggishly conjured
To bring itself pleasure,

But

Perhaps the outside of the box
Is why it stocks
Empty memories
And silly thoughts.

Oh how I long to hold,
Protect,
Yet still keep my morality intact.

In fact,
The desire to be on fire
Seems bred in!

But maybe I'm just
Inbred.

Wrong and right,
And black and white,
Why do we stop loving when we fight?

Should not we
Disagree,
In an order that borders on
Civility?

But perhaps ardor,
And grandeur
Accompany one another,
And perhaps weakness,
And meekness,
Cannot be second guessed.

Ipsos factos,
Give up the ghost,
And so I set these things to rest.

Why do we refrain from swearing around small children?

Maybe the process of finding solutions and failing to traverse shortcuts is . . .

Clown Shoes

Don't be alarmed by my pace
I've changed for the day - no disgrace!
I'm trying new prose
Like a new set of hose
That I might be comfortably laced.

I have trouble writing the trite
Although many would (many might)
Consider the jocular
From afar, though binocular,
To be distasteful in any light.

Still I say it's completely fallacious,
To ignore one's humor, so gracious,
That, when we stumble,
Shows us how we're humble,
Which in turn can make us less voracious.

So I guess what I'm saying is this:
In the grossest of ironic twists,
The lesser you've palled
To the name you've been called
The better you'll feel in the midst.