She wrote a poem just for me -- before dotting the ex or crossing the p. & I reflected, dear lady McGee, How dare you presume to be? an inquisitor of my insanity? Sir Limericist may thump your rhymes sashay with his clichéd lines. cut the teeth on Rosetta stones Growls with grimaced gagging groans to go to vast, deep unknowns. The id divides to legion clones. Runs naked through the twilight zones belching out beer-drunken moans. For old Lim can't pay off his loans, a pawn to debt, the dummy's become. Considered like the sewer's scum below the green man's heavy thumb. His mind doth beat the same old drum. While putting himself out & down seen as a phony bum. Yet if you imagine you have figured out his lower-lipped sad-clown pout in his nut, there's so much more you'll never be able to explore, or maybe you know the score?
My Big Fat Cliché