Balancing Act

    I rummage in the evil words have wrought
    in hopes of maybe salvaging the good
    but not as master – what a silly thought –
    not even William Shakespeare ever could;
    this said, I’m not resigned to being slave
    and have a deep belief in quips and tickles
    and looney letters dancing as they shave
    the beard off all the prickly pompous pickles;
    let’s cut up daft decrees – make them a game
    and rhymes exchange for pious judgements too
    let limerick-led shenanigans take aim
    at orthodox excess of every hue –
         but always more for fun and less for spite
         ’til  words have made us  dizzy with delight


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