Take a Tour

Eggshell eyes are scooping next to browsing crowds
Of helium-attached nausea problems from seventh
Grade.

And the grimacing of the teeth mirrors the
Poised, perpetual discomfort of the merry men on
Tour.

A journey for pleasure. For which opened robes
And velvety-textured bed linen could not satisfy. Like
Aunt

Terri's Mr with the big'n at bay each
Night, taking turns at the sails because neither of them were big
Enough

To take it on the chin. Oh, weep does the arachnid
Who willingly spins the wheel of misfortune upon every
Tide,

Uninterested in the truth of the boys, nor
The crowds, nor the 4 minute cold showers at the rush of 6.
Ings

Of water marsh welcome the costumed pilgrims,
One with a ball in hand, surrounded by a drone so breaking
That no screaming girl can compete.

Because the greater aren't enough tidings for the young.