bostonpoetry
Delving into underground lairs
Cocooning monsters pious with wealth
We delve into ourselves
Egos in check, just a wreck
Bothered by poignant inconsistencies
And flowering wormholes
Zapping from one universe to another
String-theory in reverse
Where everything’s relativity
Elders vent their toys
While little girls and little boys
Mix in the muddy expanse