Sardines All lined Up To Get Canned
Sardines all lined up to get canned.
So I sat and squandered
the first twenty minutes,
drawing cheesy doodles on a sticky pad,
then my girlfriend called and
coerced me into phone sex.
I'll tell you what,
it really hurts putting that reciever
up your wazoo, and I felt like
I needed a whole bar
of dial soap afterward.
all of that interruption
blew another ten minutes
of my hour to write,
the absolutely right stuff.
then it hit me that one only had to look
into their own eye and study the intricate
web of colors blended in a flowering iris,
and I became a pupil of my own insight,
gazing at my somewhat undetached retina,
I saw the handiwork of God
in this red viened, wet pearl orb,
with greenish brown pigment
adorning a tool I took for granted daily.
I once removed an enemies eyes,
by hooking my thumbs into the corners,
exerting less then two pounds of pressure,
they popped out and hung by the
optic nerves and viens,
swinging to and fro,
disabling any further desire
in him to kill me,
I left him studying the ground
he sought to put me in,
and now as I remember
of such sacred organs
I shed a few tears for his loss,
and then I realize
as my clock chimes
its silly british tune,
that my hours up,
and I have babbled away
any points I could have made with you,
and so in place of a poem
I will fetch a flintstone glass
and share Barney's rubble
with four fingers of
white chocolate schnapps,
and just sip the the eve away.
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