I far too often heed the siren call
That rings from in the Stupid God’s large hall
And holds more people in its dulling thrall
Than might be thought. I, too, must take my ease
At times. I must seek out a sweet release
From too much thinking, lest I grow diseased–
I know that such awaits me if I don’t,
Foul thought of which I might write, but I won’t.
I wrestle with so doing, seek to hone
Myself instead of letting myself laze,
But still I find that, on too many days,
I heed the call, it fills my mind with haze,
And I plod dully to that dim delight
Of Stupid God’s, who laughs throughout the night.
Like the writing that I do? Reach out; I can do some for you!
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