I heard it,
& we’re the worse f’it.
I try to prop it all on my scarlet dictionary,
when the spiral binding should’ve sufficed.
You just can’t fuck with the fluoride fairy.
If you try to, you just might
grow a rosy boil that always feels greasy
—perfection’s perfect foil.
& yet I’d ne’er sown my reply;
¿Why,? when aware my awareness is boozed
to arctic hell, where the only thing clean
be the breakfast bell.
Well, we’ll well well in the well-welded well o’ wills
till we realize we ne’er realized
why we faced the inferno
o’ the 1st place.
They will still burn, though.