The effects of rhyme on a younger mind...
A catfish who calls you brothers and sisters,
who SpLaShEs and mauls you with barbels and whiskers,
fin scratches and scrawls in fish antic tongue twisters
with a rash that involves some iambic pun blisters...
My vision's obtuse, I grin puce through chartreuse,
I've these oddly used barbels for finding refuse.
As Namazu, I'm loose in this prose we produce
to remain without name, inane and recluse.
One may well deduce abuse of moon juice
or the screws that flew loose from our snoots and caboose
as we choose to induce, in gruesome, blue use,
skewed views we construes from Zarathustra and Suess...