This Here

Ordinary sanctions wouldn’t apply to the effervescent pigeon toes for too much longer, scrutinizing the woes of foreverpenguins—adept at taking their time when you just want to get a movin’ to the promised land (or at least the land referenced in books of yore). What really must happen is a distancing from tyrants and despots who normally would have built their empires upon the sweat equity of the under-the-tablers brought around from the time of the Immeasurable Reckoning.

The new standard—a babe in the woods—must rear itself without even a kindly wolf or flyover pigeon at its disposal! While certainly not necessary in this predicament, self-sabotage becomes more likely with each passing day as doubt does its dubious duty of doling out a deluge of doldrums, waiting to be conquered through a steady, dedicated hand (though it knows the chances are quite slim in this here forest).

March On

Umpteen liberty steaks transgress
like no other cut of meat
ever conceived by our dedicated team
of mix-n-match overachievers,
and you can quote me on that.

I don’t find this grand display of sentience
to be entirely unexpected, but I really thought
a few generations of anthropomorphization
would have had to come and go
before such nationalistic forms of protein
started speaking up.

But
I’ve been proven wrong in my assumptions
more times than I can count at this point.
I hold no grudges; I march on
as any man of science would.