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Current mood:finally a bit tired.
A billion flying saucers have landed
with drops and rain
(in their lunacy howl)
Against the bald spots -
- on the Earth's brain.
In finite:
Lego-sized green coloured men.
They got out of the cold and
shot people for using
too many prepositions
(more than required)
to order a latte.
Some folks became very quiet, and
my eyelids
were peeled and perked
at the new owner of
[the deed to
the planet:] Earth.
Copyright ©2008 That Poet Who Fails to Make Smoking Look Cool When On-World, C. Douglas.
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