Jugged
His tactics talk of antique types of tasks,
antiquated quips, ritualistic
fits, addict’s frantic search of attic bliss.
Of mantle antics, praying mantis trip.
Atop bricks, lies man’s soul sick. Poor lost fire,
Where candlestick desire is thought to
Be licentious as apple appetite.
But what is saved? Tis free as flowing brooks,
buzzing wings of bees wooing woman’s nooks.
Friendly frizzing fire is not sin, but
nature’s soul and wit shunning our chagrin.
Break the clanking chains manacled to brain,
For wise is mind’s eye to inquire what’s inside.
