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.
