Poems from the
Inside
Seek
the light of day . . .
Hot Hot Hot
Do you see the mad man mumbling over there?
Why don't you please befriend him, if you dare;
and when he sits beside you as you lunch
enjoying sun and air upon some bench
suggest that seat is hot - i have a hunch -
you will not see his brain so quickly clench
as when he swiftly rises as to flee
glaring eyes upon you filled with rage;
a tumult of emotion, heaving sea
encased in flesh, a cage within a cage.
Should it turn in fact as I have said
then by a linguist he has been abused.
He just thinks that you are friends with "Ed"
who has designed a game of things to chose -
a madman's game that he must surely lose.
In losing come such spanks unto his head
as soon to leave him writhing on his bed,
for though the t-shirt told him to bolt in
no suggestion ever bothered to say how
and they will laugh to see him lowing like a cow.
© D. Winter
November 10, 2007
