The Problems

Rainbow unicorn deities cry
While they spittle nocuous things,
Where lizards’ gizzards, along
With other batches of torn innards,
Were strewn across nicely tiled floors,
Dying unglazed porcelain clays on
That insipid day of waning crescents
When blitzing seals with consternation
Gravely decided to peacefully pluck
The sun’s ray for evolutionary reasons, or
For creation’s purpose, albeit within
The fifth dimension where even known
Latent conclusions stayed on lit lasered screens
Displaying insignias that might have represented: delta.


I Can be Blameless

A question is asked
With answers sown in.
Confirmation is given
Or lies are tried.

For what’s the use
In inflicting pain
On the diffuse.

Who is to blame
For creation.

The heavens
Have my gratitude;
I can be abominably blameless too.