April 19 by The Running Son
Gone way wrong
I’ve ground out a theory. The soundness of it, surely!
But growing sound-less now, also my sight’s getting blurry–
all orange and swirling brown, clearly a surging fount of fury.
Adjective thinks it’s a noun, all surly,
slapping past tenses around.
So get down from your high-hound and chuck that fucking crown.
Call back the jury, we’ll pow-wow at the town-hall
and hurry, because by now
they might’ve up and found a pound
or even an ounce of written soundness soundly buried.
by Jim Aldrich