It's chilly in here. Fools,
no, myself even lead largely to become
the coal-shovellor, spilling spoonfuls
of wild chicken and rice into
the ideals around here.
It keeps things going.
Things are kind of weak, overall.
Mega lame.

Oh, the deaths you'll catch from
ill-fitted doors;
Blame it on drafty sills, but
don't forget that illness and idea share
a common adjective: Communicable.

So next time you have a thought,
just leave it on your shirt sleeves.