January 12 by The Running Son
mad science べ
Jim the wordsmith had a room that he was doomed to share,
with dogs and cats, and furtive rats, and bugs that settled there.
The hair and dust—ridiculous! plumed with the slightest move,
until one day he made the hair and muck and yuck his muse.
by Jim Aldrich (:
Written for the Poetry Question Daily Prompt:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.