BRUISED AND BATTERED

bruised and battered,

but still ticking.

refocus all our attention on

malevolence and those

flirtatious overtones 

now occurring  in flatulence isle

at nearest Walmart, where

sun never shines, but

where shoppers sweat buckets

while inhaling those fine

aromas only found at Walmart

and associated retail outlets.

life is just one big thrill,

one right after another.

because second none

is better than one to nothing,

taking into account all the

one's failing muster,

becoming one with bluster

in a cloud of nothing ever after.

poetry has gone over the edge;

crashed and burned,  gone over

 the edge; crashed and burned.

and has done this for

more years than most can attest.

but, always, always climbs

back up, even though knowing

it will continue crashing

and burning into the ages.

go, poetry, go!

at the end of the day,

universe is still infinite.

and anything we do

will never change that.

and this friends, neighbors,

and all blue collar workers

is absolutely wonderful

knowing we cannot

in and shape or form,

screw up the universe. 

haters hate. lovers love.

birds fly. nothing more to say.

have a good day and life;
hopefully in that order.