"Fiddler's Dime Rhyme"
A riddle isn't worth a dime unless it's played in rhyme during fiddle time.
I don't know if my last poetry piece existed anywhere, but in my mind.
The sun, planets, moons, and stars' rivers, and oceans, are my sons and daughters.
I'm writing on a full moon in a cathartic late June.
Soon to be the turning earth's July, for an August supply of a hot afternoon sun.
When the musical melodies ring as one.
Are you lip syncing me, or tongue touching the clouds in the sky?
The state of California seems to have gone dry.
It's a dry and fecked smell that attracts flies.
I just skip over, in my stately high.
Will the world cry, should I die?
I'm taking tokes on some powerful smokes.
Ruining and staining my teeth.
Beneath my feet on the floor, right next door.
Four and twenty blessed score.
Why should Tom, Dick, and Harry miss Larry?
He can't hide anymore.
Below the acupuncturist's store.
From you, after, or before.
From: Jon's John.
By Jonathan Billet
June 21, 2015
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