POEM: Making Shit Up

Weather to tell the or not? Forecast for today: shit flying, and the gravity of this doubted. The largesse of falsehoods seem ingrate supply in daze like this. Grievance seems as worth wile as cache. This poem may not sanitize such shit, but it does satirize it.

Making Shit Up

All said with a straight efface
Game on
The whirled has flipped
Off to the razes
The gravity of a legion of heavy situations
Sad as might be
In verse
Let alone in
Make up a grate reversal
Proffered by the effluent and well-to-doo
a bout
Some fickle madder
And lodes of doody
A choiring everyone ails
And their cousin hurl
In some far flung dump
Wading to sea
If only
Can void certain certainties
As that wandering if
Shit flies
And wear in sticky

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