Sonnet 53 -- Masses of Asses Ruin the Classes

Sonnet 53 -- Masses of Asses Ruin the Classes

A nonsense sonnet for a nonsense world

Where the usual is skewed and rotten

The poetry is not sung but is hurled

And probably should be best forgotten

The game is almost over and I choked

The audience went home without applause

Too old and grey and crippled to be poked

All opportunity did slip my paws

Comfort no longer comforts this artist

Security becomes a limp penis

Less than poet, I am just a fartist

And do I honestly really mean this?

Forcing my rhymes with a hammer of sledge

I think that I’m firmly over the edge