The Shell, he Screamed,

Is All That Matters when

ladders cause the Whites of

your Hands to Decay as The

Altitude becomes Less of a Phobia.

This Skin--this Dead, Chapped Skin

is the Epitome of an impressive Accomplishment.

And This Bone,

When Evolved into the Same Consistency,

is Spat upon If It's Appearance is Over an Inch Long.

You Sick, Sick Ape.

You Ignorant Chimp

(Limping up Vines and

Coughing up Spines)

Who You Are dances Before Your Forehead

and Sings Sonnets of Sandpapered Perfections

to Those who Unfortunately Exist.

You are a Mystery.