I stand in the center of coincidence .
I am the epitome of chance.
I exist as pair of ill-fated dice.
We deal with men and mice.
Most of the time we choose not to slice,
Because just letting it go will suffice.
Unfortunately now I sit on a pillar of ice,
My feet dangling in the air heavy with spice.
The taste of recent happenings have been anything but nice.
My very self, my only self has suffered a splice-
Di-ced-
Ser-ved wit-h rice-
Sweet smells only en-ti-ce
The W-e without ey-es
OF MEN AND MICE. ahem.
ReplyDeletehahaha, i like how it slid into the -ice rhyme. :) i think my favorite line was "My feet dangling in the air heavy with spice."
diced meat annoys me. it's too cube-ish.
of mice and men >.>
ReplyDeleteI think I may have promoted cannibalism in my poem...
I don't eat much meat to begin with. I don't think I've ever had diced meat.
meatmeatmeat is good. :) drool.
ReplyDelete