Thursday, November 10, 2016

Sockspeare, Thou!

Sockspeare, Thou!

Tonight I sensed the arts' demise
and thought of thine indecent writ

which could be used to kill the flies
that buzz above thy perfumed feet.

To liberate what's kept inside
thou must allow'st thyself to dart
where inspiration, poisoned, died
cause of thy mindless abstract art.

But this is wrong! The muses went
(because thine odored feet emit
condensed that deathly worn socks scent),
outside to breathe! Lickety split!

Thy mind, surprisingly, expressed
what could be taken for die-verse
tormented nostrils were suppressed
their agonized intake was terse.

Thy fans, inhaling the extrait
those well worn socks let loose with pride,
decided to command in verse
what should be buried cause it died.

They called it 'poem' but was known
that flies became, somehow, extinct,
bystanders ran to wear cologne,
thy Sockspeare theme was, thus, succinct.

Those blackened garments, worn around,
with plastic sneakers, bought on sale,
became the cause the fish have drowned
and deathly scents were to curtail.

Please tell us why thy socks perfumes
became the symbol of foot-prose
dug up feet-ology exhumes
what should be listed to dispose.

© G. Venetopoulos,10-13-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)