DAY 27, POEM 27: MAYBE IF THE WORLD RAN OUT OF INK WE'D ALL LIVE FOREVER

No more bad endings or embarrassing obituaries
fare thee well old friend, amygdala hijack

So tired of yellow cake lodged in my gullet
like a misfired lumberjack special at Denny's

It was a fifteen round war with Sugarstick Malone
that gave me this gated septum, my only medal

My lonely mullet laughs at your satisfactory hair
such is what comes of bad reading habits

Even when we saw you balling in the woods
everyone knew the truth: fab tone is boss

The song went: you swing her, you keep her
all the way past the lighthouse, the horizon

to you