
I have
two,
hundreds of you;
blend of us
unified in metaphor
aprons of tentative
riddling mayhem
of ruthless lies
coned in oxymoron.
Bad as I,
three,
hundred billion
branded monsterous
similes chanting
alike and alike
of indifference allusion
but hope is hope
all framed in
spiritual sarcasm
Its a pool,
let's cross the
deep black sea
of lures built up
in the ivory
of ironies
let's chant one
more time at
the back of your eyes
hypocritical poet!
Lucid climatologist,
lying behind clean
shades of red-eyes
where ballads are
antithesis of clowning
tears of a believer
innocency of a saint
loyalty of a virgin
degree of awards
levels of poverty
And where is
LADE WORSONU's Povertometer?
yet all could be
clichés of temptatious
bridles of solemnised
penchant anachronisms....
The Village Thinker



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