Thirteen’o two yet only for a few.

The knowledge contained in this course,

might also be known in morse.


Because the shape of the key,

and its inclinations you’ll see,

may only exist binarily.


If a line is a triangle

with zero height,

and a circle is a series

of dots in a plight.


What is an egg,

or a trunk of a tree.

What pray tell,

does it say about me.


Our oval heads,

with jutted out ears,

noses extended,

with holes set for tears.


Whiskers, beards,

and nasal hair.

Most would do them,

but some don’t care.


Mullets, bangs and rat tailed dreads,

I know,

I heard,

But I’m also filled with bread.


Fighting, arguing, prolonging the fight,

Arguing, squabbling, dictating our plight.

I dont know if you’ve been told,

But people draw conclusions,

just   to   join   the   fold.


They think they know,

They think they care,

They think they love,

even when not there.


To have and to hold,

sounds great indeed,

But to lose and to suffer,

brings some spection my dear.


And in that loss,

you might find,

The thing that makes,

your mind go round.


How we take sides

and how we hope,

using our four letter words,

when we’re just grope.


And as our feeble minds decay,

distractions, urgencies, and priorities delay.

As our bodies insulate and store,

methol silco calcif plus more.


On and on, this merry-go-round,

with enough complexity and obsfication abound.

with millions of combinations true,

but without tone and inclination – your fools.



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