Yaggar Bargamoih

We interrupt this regular programming

With a wild eyed monster

Her name is … well time will tell

A dozen critters live in her walls

And she hack-coughs like her third wrinkle wheezes

Truthsome variants of the divine sprawled before her

Hung upon her walls like plans for mystery novels

Partridges and periwinkles

Plattered up for experimentation

Her nose isn’t as long as you’d expect

But she laughs the way you do

Misanthropic views protect her from any vulnerability to social anxiety

She talks to her second mole twice daily (and her third thrice, etc)

But she hasn’t an expectation to count

What’s different then, you ask, from your expectations?

The destinations, dearie.

You think you know until you don’t.

My name is Yaggar Bargamoih

And this is her tale…

She doesn’t much speak

For few can listen to what she has to bring

Her eyes too distracting to hear

Her feather black hair like a violent lesson

The wherewithal it takes to relate to this one

If only you knew the tips of her secrets, then you might dare

But no fathering soul condones proximity

And many afar and afew catch her drift in the air

They thank that Good God of Certainty that they’re there and not here.