In small proportion real beauty to know,

the full extent of perfection slowly grow.

Sense sublime deeply through all things,

a memory from long ago that still impels.

Chaotic beauty in struggle seen as art,

causing havoc by ego’s hope, torn apart.

Dying memories never reached that dream,

aspiration to inspire before the expired gleam.

Incomplete measures by lofty ...

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My love life is a dusty relic of the Stone Age

The risks of COVID are too much to handle

My new blow-up doll's not quite the same

But dames are just not worth the candle

I miss the gossip working from home, and

I'm growing obese eating non-stop cookies,

I'm depressed from thinking about my fate,

Facing queer street from on-line bookies

The allotment affords me a b...

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