It is 500 that
this dolt would try to do.
Tomatoes, rotten, should be threw
at this dude, loose a screw.

On site, untethered kook,
he must be a motormouth.
Why’s he fight this cause of a marathon?
We in hell ourselves find.
“Spell” Oh no!!

Once vowed: stick with it,
claimed he wouldn’t quit it.
But then he sensed a shit fit.
He purred that he was open,
opined
that maybe he would reel it in.

The feline quit the scene
for a spell, quit abuse
and said he would be seen
for some time as recluse.

What walks on four feet,
don’t look like a roe?
A pussy—that’s J.A.,
who meowed, “From ‘Spell’s, yo go.”
(Why part Spanish? No know.)

Didn’t stick with it,
instead chose to “kit” it.
The bullet, he bit it.
He’d purred that he was open,
outlined
that for a spell he’d reel it in.

He’ll take a plane to the East,
post “uncle” cry and go
to a place where not great’s the weather. . .
ultra-Anglo.
Ditzy there for bulldogs
When folks say “Hello,”
sounds sort of like his hometown,
where they eat yellow snow.*

But he’ll stick with it
when back, reactivate the shit fit.
But for now he’ll kit it.
When his mouth opens.
meowing
you hear; he drinks his milk claws in.


*Amber, actually—maple syrup on snow, AKA “sugar on snow”