Because youre reading this,
I am writing it.
Not the other way around.
Start from the ground up.
Youre conceiving this,
Way or that,
But all youre getting,
Is a few lines of crap.
The art of it all,
Is made in your mind,
For that I take no credit,
It was there the whole time.
And then you decided to let it out,
Right at the beginning of this blog,
And are deciding to keep it until now,
Where is belonged all along.
For what is a poem,
Without a reader,
A sack of rubbish,
Or something else British.
No,
No, not that.
This is not art.
It was just me working up,
To this majestic fart!
-wish you could be here with me to smell it.
P.S. I really didn't fart.
OH LOOK AT THAT, AN APOSTROPHE!
www.dank-master.com
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