See here, children,
the goose who ate the paper plate.
Listen to the tale of a sixth sun
& those of us who've spun around
in tortured orbit.
Pencils down. Gather
'round & bring it in: when all eyes
are on me, we can do nothing
before the darts of reasonable
You get a halo or a lightbulb,
nothing in between. Stewing
while the others dance.
Ouroboros can only be performed
Two high windows,
the shadows are sobering.
No crown of thorns
or laurels either, but vectors.
Lay down your sword
so you can pick up a gun instead.
Little books have strange lives,
big books have more fun.
Judge not, lest ye be asked to
judge often & sometimes on weekends.