More mere crooks were on the stage, dear.
Will you come back inside?
Let's make a trip home next year
where my conscience lake is near:
Say what? You ain't coming?
Why not? Because I'm losing
weight? That don't mean I'm not hungry,
it just means that I love you:
With sand in the elevator and a cheshire grin,
she dashed inside the other portal;
of vacations and patience and gin,
of stasis and grace less a fin:
Plangent plena fills the air of my shack;
How can I de-vein this attack?
urbansonnets 