2002 Poetry

theirs are enigmatic

full of false hope and relief

they hang to a jiffy's joy and ease

still awake in the wee hours of the morning

hoping their lunatic thurst would be slaked

too many loves to nibble indecency

some are fortunate to have found true love

some are what we call nocturnal creatures

of the night--who loves to make other's

mind tumble at night

go on with your filth, go on like that

continue to be a nocturnal as there's

a cucumber to cover your swearing eyebugs

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