Poetry-Thing Thursday: Mind-Grease

I seek release,
for a load of mind-grease,
that’s honking like geese,
being chased by police,
for their opulent fleece,
while their alpha does cease,
and book pages do crease.

But I find nothing fun,
in staring at one,
whom glows like the sun,
and forgiving the pun,
is as pure as a nun,
who’s lifting a gun,
to be on the run.

So I’ll do what I can–
I’m only a man,
and she’s a big fan.
No matter our plan
we’re into the pan,
with a sun-cancer tan,
and toeing a ban.

Bodies entwine,
a perverted sign,
that crosses a line,
and incurs a fine,
but it’s 4th and nine,
while I’m in decline,
and she wants to be mine.

Emotions never read,
by the living dead,
we fall into bed,
and our bodies are wed.
Should have cleaned them instead,
but we’re dirtied in head,
by a loneliness dread.

So with a whimper and moan,
our fates we have sown,
innocence lost, the departed’s postpone,
while we claim one another as own,
and take turns revealing the news through the phone,
that she and I, together can hone,
melted mind-grease into razor-sharp bone.

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