Gout Lout Poem by John Sensele

How many hearts have you won because you gave to someone?
You've taken Ben, forsaken Len and slain hearts by the dozen
Cos you take, fake and fret until you slake a crown
In a brown haze, frown on hearts and drown joy, so what then?
You habituate debit habits in a pit of trivia titbits on a planet that grabs
Shrugs, brags, mugs and bugs anyone with little
Or nothing, no assets for vultures to take. Raptures break shrubs
Cos they've got no dollars or flowers that by the hour can wittle
Away humbug and hug slug at arms length without theatrics
But with a zillion unmeasured metrics can outthink the kink in ink sink
Where phonies loonies and crippled bunnies in attics
Fumble for a humble matchstick and amble about a link
That sprouts up on the snout of a lout's fate when a matchmaker scout
Pouts because the doubt of gout relishes a tout bout.