For the unwritten words
The waiting tomorrow
Yet tomorrow never comes
The gods can’t bring the myth
We are always now
And our unfortunate minds betray us


So you’re stuck
peaking through a keyhole
You are rain for a drain
Refrain from going to the pig farm
instead, welcome to the republic of unsung nouns


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.