chips and fishing,
flies like chicken,
makes weebles wobble,
ensures they won’t topple.

if the world blew chunks,
no more big spunks,
it jitters like critters,
all stuck in their litters.

americas old feathers,
makes chaps from leathers,
all the while it sings,
loud and proud things.

ancient east,
jealous old beast,
crush its detractors,
monitoring it’s factors.

when the bear shells,
it’s failure smells,
neanderland gets wary,
that gruff fellow’s scarey.

the mysterious darkness,
so easily dismissed,
sounds music beats,
while the rest cheats.

all is at war,
makes every hand poor,
except the elites,
no shit on their feats.

eyeing the prize,
from the destitute demise,
collect the gold teeth,
make a macabre wreath.

remember their flowers,
red purple skinned towers,
dropped in fudge,
they will never budge.

the final scorn,
you think I’m AI born,
only pictures you see,
the words are really me.

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