The limerick walked by the shore,
and watched the night eat the sun raw.
It lay by the wharfs,
emblazoned with scarfs,
refining its love of the law.
His smile was as ripe as a window.
Not much could be seen through it, though.
In this pantomime
you learn how to climb
downward, holding blank tunes as you go.
We were standing around in the car lot.
Our placards had started to rot
but that did not matter.
unfurled like a bird from a dot.
Whose home it had been was uncertain.
It just seemed like a good place to flirt in.
The spells scrawled on the stairs
caught us unawares
but we roared at the joke on the curtain.
I want to see Emerson’s grave.
A spear of light taught us to crave.
History is burning.
Who wants a slice of yearning?
Did you mean to make freedom your slave?