Why I keep a low profile i.e. namely remain invisible

Alternately titled -

dear readers ye each saddled as exegete

to make sense little known excerpt

referencing obscure passage printed

calligraphy style groovy and neat

 

found scrawled in book of Matthew

which Biblical passage also replete

with date of last family outing

~mid January 2020 birthday treat

at Collegeville Diner.

 

Countless reported instances occurred

well... honestly maybe at least once or twice

(oh and of course preposterous claims

abounded made by men

and even cheesy mice),

 

where public television viewers

like you dearly paid ultimate price

by merely stealing quick (hesitant) glance,

or if feeling brave

a prolonged stare would suffice

 

nevertheless, (whether former or latter case)

their fate sealed, especially viewing

against heeding sagacious advice

daring themself just sneak peak

of mid abdomen (mine)

 

of course including ridiculously

absurd looking headshot

(none other than mine) -

jarring funny bone enough to suffice.

 

An instantaneous propensity would elicit

heard all around world wide web,

particularly along rolling green acres

of Highland Manor) many a hee haw

(mostly strangers no less) burst out laughing

 

by ghost of George (Bernard) faux Shaw

vocalizations, viz uproarious thunderous guffaw

(think trademark utterance linkedin with hyena)

out the mouths of babes,

plus purple people eaters,

 

and many an in and out law

even envision token blushing zebra

as authenticated constituting last straw

that broke camel's back,

who also fell over convulsing

 

with belly aching jaw

breaking, teeth clattering writhing cackle

and impersonating chickens squawk

king, the feeble and lame metaphors I draw

though the aforementioned raw

 

bits of good humor

spurred courtesy eldest sister

(she decreed exempt, and not held accountable)

while celebrating recent birthday (mine)

(as iterated earlier)

at Collegeville Diner ~mid January 2020.

 

Hence... unlawful and

overly dangerous to affix

boot impossible mission to squelch

totally tubular poetic antics

whereby sharing photographic likeness

 

(mine), lest picture unleash battery of bricks

getting hurled toward me

at light speed, where clicks

of handcuffs and leg irons

would immediately shackle

 

purportedly once worn by Jimi Hendrix,

thus I felt gently brushed with Woodstock fame

subsequently tolerated

and welcomed skin lacerated

with deep purple chafing and nicks.