Aye dream
of Genie
(as a Lad din)
Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania -
keystone state
abbreviated
as Pea Yay,
this stupid
non huge poem
really...
a boot nuttin
butta an
overrated allay
zee good
for nothing, bay
sic doofus
slob, bray
zing as a
("FAKE")
pence heave
trumpeting
(Don Key
Oat Tee),
chutzpah
twittering Prez, -
whom stoop
“To Kill
a Mockingbird”
activate
hocus pocus
“Go Set NRA
as a Watchman,
” yepper,
hip pip hooray,
whose coon
sitters
un mensch hen
nib bill,
one important,
non binding
willy nilly play
book title,
sans how
to acquire,
tousled
windswept
coiffed soufflé
rooted under
sworn
confidential
heady
testimony
(top secret
only known
between
POTUS,
FLOTUS,
and hairstylist
Tiffany Kaljic)
helped grow "The
Art Of The
De..." lay
sham (poo poo)
headline
kept under ray
dar only
"How To
Get Ri."
Dove lousy
tonsuring
service,
and how easy
to get Head
& Shoulders
above fray
dee cats -
me owing
over petty files
versus
joining gray
vee train
via tracking
"FAKE"
footing
faux Trump
wannabes,
hence ICE hay
Immediately
railroad
competition
viz, against
ISIS speck did
Amazon
tubby a
root cause
thus resorting to
"Midas Touch:
Why...Ent...er
risk to get
scalped, when,
(though
periwig poor
hirsute
substitute),
I belay
burr the
point far y'all
(get a Fred –
Roger over)
to hoist
by one's
own petard
oye vey,
while channeling
das directv gray
gore re:
haired
(50 shades),
and direct
descendent
from Kublai
Khan, a
moost
deplorable display
yellowish,
venomous, serpent,
which
poisonous
scorpion
size prey
with deadly
fangs straight
(tinned by
orthodontists),
a perfect
set pearl whites
in an array
as daggers
hissed ("FAKE")
snaky inter
generational
viper, and
true tomb
ice elf flave
heard like
a pampered baby
(nick named
Keebler Khan)
unthinkable
alternative
(forever shunned
near and faraway)
if this
poetaster
doth betray
his (my)
devote followers,
no matter
admirably,
dutifully,
and gracefully
fulfilling role
as sommelier
replenishing
wine goblets
with vintage
chardonnay,
nonetheless
reprimanding
recalcitrants,
who opt
to breakaway
slamming,
shaming,
and scathing
rants against
brand name
Matthew
Scott Harris
finds himself
a castaway,
thus unsure,
how to write
without delay
An insipid
poem to pay
(overtime)
homage about
Labor Day
prepping
mental gears
glommed
together
like clay
while cruising
at mock speed
faster then
(Tom Hawk)
along the
(Al Gore)
rhythm
information
super highway
expressway
axe chilly
(sh...dont
tell a soul
lest I club
burr you -
ha juiced
tees zing),
yours
truly intends
to play
umpteen (close
to a bajillion)
rounds of golf
on the
Harris fairway
Lest a
Tony (nay)
boar hood
tiger jumps
out of the
woods
painfully sinking
sharp teeth
into mine
flesh for play
jour quickly
making mince
meat
then fillet
mignon
before
(prestidigitation
i.e.presto)
magically
regurgitating
my self
fully intact
as re
purposed
slimy
trumpeting
popinjay.