Sometimes, I start things and don't finish them. Sometimes? A lot of the time. I start and then life happens, or I get stuck, or ...
So I figured I'd give this little poem I started a home. I have others, many others. Tonight, I felt like sharing this one --can't think why. I began it in January 2017; I abandoned it roughly thereafter. This one was called "The Song of the Phallus Palace". Sad!
Erect and proud, it bears my name;
It stands so grand and tall --
A fitting tribute to my fame
(Enormous fame --NOT small).
It’s huge! It’s filled with majesty,
As I myself am filled --
Of course, this thing is mine,
For I’m a man of industry,
And all the girls are thrilled --thrilled! --
To come. They stand in line.
It doesn’t merely scrape the sky --
I’d say it penetrates it.
Six hundred sixty-four feet high --
Only jealous people hates it.
Those people wish that they were me
(Including those who built it,
Whom I may not have paid
Who then sank into poverty.
If you think that causes any guilt, it
Won’t, ‘cause guilt won’t get me laid).