This feeling can't stay caged in here,
But, if escaped, may fast appear
To shear the sphere of non-austere
With bladed bridge atop a sneer.
My flying ire: iron-faced,
A giant tyrant long disgraced.
In home of bone it rams to paste
A place it named a shameful waste.
The metal malice craves to cave
All glamor--hammer brows engrave
Destruction on the feeble knave
Who let an excess mind-enslave.
It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Jack's flying ire :-)
ReplyDeletestupendous technique - perfect iambs, fiendishly difficult rhyming quatrains, and enough slant rhymes and consonance to fill a bouillion cube! You are the best argument against Ambien that I know.
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