Half Cracked Poetess

My half cracked poetess
Sits wondering in the window frame
She’s been sitting there since breakfast
I can tell
As her coffee cup and kelloggs bowl remain in positions
That are categorically and quite pointedly the same

She riddles and she rhymes
Displays knowledge from so many different times
Then knocks it off her face with an existential frown
In her reveries of grace
And knotted words behind her brow

Who knows what she’ll be thinking
By the time we go to bed
Her nipples squealing Byron and a Bronte between her legs
My half cracked poetess
Has pondered thought away
She’s also learning the accordion
But I’ll leave that for another day

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