Beneath the cwm zenith where nymphs wheezily prance,
whizbang melodies from an old jukebox entrance.
Faqirs strum quickly on sweet mezquite-wood guitars,
highjacking reality, exciting quasars.
A Jezebel sylph winks, zombifying the night,
the zymurgy of enchantment, bathed in moonlight.
Below the Qi’s frolicking flybys, swift and free,
caziques and vizcachas equalize at tea,
as quetzals dose on outoxyphenbutazone,
jazzed by zippy zephyrs that sizzle to the bone.
And while muzjiks whisper, “Quixotry is preferred.
To maximize the magic, Xerox the absurd,”
xylophonists scarf flapjacks, yelling at bezique,
“Prizes in zuz and xu, not exempt from our pique.”
Chutzpah and qwerty thusly are here intertwined,
defuzing the mundane, leaving logic behind.
So, exorcize your qualms and brush the “phphts” away.
Squeeze out cynicism. It’s Oxazepam Day!
© 2024, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
