Tuesday, November 18, 2008


At times thoughout the day,
hoards of zombies come to say,
of what, they do not know,
pure avoidance makes this so.

Without meaning, without care,
language betrayed in lazy fare.
Real thoughts solely introverted,
friendship utterly perverted.

Shriveled vestige all but left,
authentic reasoning bereft.
Perhaps liking to be a sport,
incapable of genuine retort!?

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