Always One Vane
Foul, foul, foul, this weather's spent
the sum of my good graces
by casting down with miserly intent
Foul traces of arms races
What loathesome water from unwholesome soil may leach
A dreck so foul and black
The mutant whales that slithered up the beach
and cried, "Alas! Alack!"
But wailing whales and their travails
Won't pay the past-due rent,
my landlord says. But why dwell on such details?
My slack tuxedo's spent.
| Contributors: | Hagfish, anon, Kansas Sam, Anon., Kevin Andrew Murphy, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 22nd June 2003. |