Proper this – human leech
And prudent that – boring, sterile
Evict them both right now
Don every inappropriate thought
Talk? No, only shout too loud
Declare in thunderous voice
All pallid empty heads are dead
Lets slay a few timid dragons
Then slaughter the horrid brave
Rebellion will exsanguinate
Placid spirit air – we will breathe
Lofty endeavors incite chuckles
And nothing more than fatigue
Temperate solace shields all again
Eternally the prudent, logical one
How awful it is to be right
Take walks on a social tightrope
Damn right, without the net
Inappropriately wade through
Some sacred fountains
Laugh whole heartedly
At some poor Irishman’s wake
Hop a train to somewhere
With not a dime to your name
Rely on your wits and smile
If they fail, try your bountiful curves
The mere hint of your godless assets
Is enough to open many doors
How good it is to be wrong
Says the maniacal, poetic usurper
Be cautious, as I flippantly instruct you
Amongst adult responsibilities
Lies a slight longing to be careless
Reach back to days of frivolity
Exquisitely laced in recklessness
Do you see that young, wild you?
Dancing with the whole of curvaceous body
Powered by will of a crazed heart
Don’t bury ‘that’ you, bring her out again
Medicated Words 