A LEXOPHILE LIVING
A lexophile, living amid the pulp, an insect
Deep conundrum of sheets alike, real test
Rough pages and some smooth urge
to him fantasies and not get disappointed
An ugly world, ogling to his lunatic stages
Eyes of whome feel only texture of pages.
Every world, infinite enough, got a brink
the only home, balled enough not caring
Life an unknown dilemma, exuberant touch
Blaspheming the dwelling of tangible air
Kosher, let be the posture to prostate
But let's see him how owing to pages bates.
Ailments of moving eyes, of lining weird inks
Reprobate reader, a rodent for beings, a simp
Conservative of his religion, no look for trut
Hoity-toity frowns on clowns mundane
Hackneyed also his job, alter with assiduous
labour, benching along nous, very righteous.
A lexophile, lavish with wise, now with pun
Prefaced his pursuit, all his wishes, his sun
Textures, time has come, scrapping is all
Cwtch them firm to avoid any cacophony call
Oh no, the life irony has come bitter to scout
Minutes, was to live practical, now in shroud.