Over-thunk
26 May 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: capitulation
Written so many middles,
no clever beginnings,
never ends,
call it a poetic funk,
a sober drunk,
thoughts so freakishly over-thunk,
the art of a,
so hungry for the inspiration of a,
I could eat the arse of a,
clairvoyantly,
poignant,
unshackled,
punk-rock,
drifting drifter of a,
shape shifter of a,
all draught,
no filter of a,
soured,
empowered,
never gonna give you up,
never gonna let you down of a,
reverse judo,
master of innuendo,
parts black,
parts white,
stealthily striped,
spiritual ninja,
metaphysical assassin,
never been domesticated,
despite what you may have read in National Geographic,
or Medium’s Creatures publication,
some think you stink,
you unflinching,
night stalker of a,
unwise jaywalker of a,
wonderous beast,
Monsieur moufette,
more laid back than Jimmy Buffet,
no high-school flunk,
or double entendre slam-dunk,
busting more rhythms than my pulmonary trunk,
my one and only Master-blaster,
my main man,
don’t call him a rodent,
cause he ain’t one,
never back this carnivorous mammal (that’s right he’s classified as such) into a corner,
or you’re going for that tomato juice rub n’ scrub,
my twisted friend’s wrath,
cause he’s full of such spunk,
yeah you probably guessed it,
I call him skunk.
