Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Pouted Putt

You pout your put, cuz, your gut you struck.
What a muck, your swing be tough.
and your confidence, there’s nothing much.

How can you be-so mute?
I boil you with tofu and
spices, like Miso soup.

Aligned shoulders, shooting towards a boulder
obstacle on course, broken with force, like popsicles divorced.

Swing through, a lonely ring, put a finger through,
mood ring, rude sings, in a drawer, it registers; cha-ching!


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