If your ego is capacious
Or your appetite voracious
For a plucky, pertinacious
Confidence in cherished creeds,
Then your genius, though sagacious,
Conjures arguments audacious
Never seeing they’re fallacious:
Truth be told, you’re in the weeds.
Your disease: a contumacious
Predilection for tenacious
Relics of the late Cretaceous
Buried deep within your soul.
Now the clash of clues vexatious
Shows your self-made strait hellacious;
Still your will proves efficacious
To maintain your status quo.
In the face of facts veracious
When your mood is disputatious
You remain unfazed, pugnacious,
With your slowly dying breed.
Your rebuttals wax loquacious
To escape the perspicacious
But they seem a mite mendacious
To the few who pay them heed.
Though my grousing is ungracious
And my rhyming ostentatious
I won’t stoop to be salacious
For the horror’s grim and cold:
While your heart still soars flirtatious,
Charmed by pterosaurs predacious,
Laxness leaves your brain crustaceous,
Drying, hardening in its mold.
Ed Morris, 2015
This page copyright © 2015 Edward A. Morris. Created February 5, 2015. Last updated February 9, 2015.
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