Amid a frozen cluster of grapes,
I have identified my muse of late.
Hanging on a perpetual seed in time,
dangling and solidified on the vine.
Apt to lose the flavor of my declining savor,
clinging mischievously to the naked arbor
of my mind.
In an embarrassing exhibition
of unfruitful mockery.









i'm wierd too!
12 old applause
