I'm feeling no particular creative urges this morning, so I'll offer a couple of poems to remove any doubt in your mind that I should be institutionalized; if not for the good of society, then at least as a service to myself.

Et tioux, Briouxte?

Tioux rivals once lived in Sioux City

Who considered the other tioux pretty.

So each one took her knife

And the other one’s klife—

Now which of the tioux dioux yioux pity?  

Logicus Fidele

Dippity, diddily, piddily poo,

daringly different , in columns of two,

waging our battles, biddily boo,

bleeding and dying, for me and for you.

Bingledy, bangledy, wiggling around,

ducking and dodging, lay flat on the ground,

trying to erase the deafening sound,

filling up body bags that he has found.

Flubbly, bubbly, fingers go snap,

years pass in instants, leaving a gap,

tears follow laughter, tippety tap,

memories which always trigger the trap.

Whirring and stirring and blurring my way,

lies and false promises die where they lay,

rambling, scrambling, starting to stray,

future is limited, live for the day.

Monty Video

Who are you, Uruguay, and why do you run,

unencumbered through my dreams?

Is your alpha the soft ‘ooo’ antithesis of your

harsh, guttural omega, or does the thumb

of sound-guilt point back at U?

I hear no contrition in your pronunciation, either.

Only the mocking scorn of ages bereft of English,

contentment born of colonialism and nurtured by revolution.

You simply don’t care.

It’s obvious to the most casual observer.

So why should I care?

You obviously share none of my passion,

I’m naught but the Google-Search passerby,

your fourteenth, this month alone.

Your smugness sickens me.

Just know that I have feelings, too.

Bob Church©2007