Supercalafragalisticexpialadocious.

I can't being to start rattling off.
My mental capacity of random information,
Like a verbal mouse, squeaking and scurrying like
The fabric of the soles of your shoes.

These pants feel tight,
This ring feels like it's eating my thumb
In a hungry notion of a ravished child of African
Natures.
Mothering his extended stomache like a fowl Stillborn
Ingrown fetal matter to the side of your guts.

This, child, so to speak;
Is the bane of my poetical mind.
This,
Child.
Green and leafy, like they should be
Total rapture in its' caress.
Like a ragged silken rope
Tightening around your neck, reminding you
Of

Corprate necktie wearing
Jurers that make this malcontent thing of beauty
Die.
Wither
Like the waters of the mother's afterbirth placenta.