It's a dragon that fills up when tires make face.
It's hardest to row boats in hummingbird lines.
It's better to give cards between pillows' tines.
Do something for me.
Give thoughts to your rocks.
It sounds like of plain, but it drinks when it talks.
Take fur to sing at the ties in your glasses.
A knee brace like that makes a lemon of asses.
I throw at such field trips when flies turn to tides.
My cat is a labyrinth of carnival rides.
I keep my ghost hidden when cell phones abound.
It's leaden to bend when there's snakeskin around.
Yet, it seems that the pages of springtime are strained.
It might-could be different once cup's rearranged.
What makes the batsman the anthill of the season?
I suspect that there's rhyme without any reason.
This is the first nonsense poem I've ever written. It has absolutely no overarching theme or intended meaning. Both reading and writing it is 100% acid-trip Rorschach test.
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