Neither Cultivate Nor Elevate A Thistle Thiefdom Poem by John Sensele

She swags in her ripped skintight jeans
Swaying right, swaying left
Sending into my heart needles and pins
Although I determine without delay to waylay

Plans she purposes in her mind
To trap my thoughts, my mind to entrap
Ensnare my capacity and blow me blind
But my subconscious labels it corny crap

I should ignore
If my sanity should persist
As long as I brush aside the snore
That I determine at all costs to resist

In the midst of ways forward
Days and ways to break the jinx
Surging forth and never moving backward
Where the celerity and ferocity of a lynx

Lie in wait to pounce on a weakness
Perchance I could and would show
If bad blood maroons meekness
In a bid a tantrum to throw and grow

When the safest and sanest solution
Lies buried in the width of wisdom
Bereft of and devoid of any daft dilution
Meant to cultivate and elevate a thistle thiefdom.