When a butterfly smokes helium
and a memory watches TV,
I lie facedown in a pool of syrup
and Obtuse, he says hi to me.
He says it silently, however
Then rain arises from fiery hell
where choirs of angels sing of their release
and Obtuse, he wishes me well
It's dark, dank and dire where he comes from
and the nights they treat you mean
He thought that he could help when I called him
instead Obtuse, he flees the scene.
Though he imparts me with his motive
I'm not sure that I understand
but somehow I'll always remember
that Obtuse, he is close at hand.
**From a completed poetry challenge in 2012. The topic is trending words.
© 2012 Mach B