Uncharted waters
lap a tiny well-worn beach
made of synonyms—

because we are younger than
this old wind blowing.

When will fresh breeze dry
this fluid situation with its moldy fruits?

And it came to pass…
Yadda yadda yadda, yup.
Exceeding usage.

Right angry barber
spits anti-protest tirades
at naked noses.

Swell to call it war,
marshalled in our rearward homes,
streaming rations. Charge!

Poet’s Notes:

Comments are welcome and rescue the poet from drowning in his own perspective. Regardless, thank you for reading. For something different, try The Master thinks before Speaking.

Image by ghcassel on Pixabay.