I gaze into a magazine To drool upon a beauty queen, I forget that she is 2-D, Make believe tears reality. Metaphysical thought flows Much the same as the wind blows. Syllables counted, Pasted and mounted, No room to tell you, Finish right on cue. Verse within a birthday card, Compromise is sometimes hard. Embarrased censor hides away, Forgive the poet out to play.
Thought can twist a dancing word, Wring meaning from the absurd.
Look again before you vet. Childhood trauma's wreck your life. Form is real when it's being used. Good is sometimes mixed with bad. The poet's pen danced in the gutter, Intent on exposure for some nutter.