She’s as solid as a rock, but soft like feathers.

She’ll juke the jackasses and shun the weather.

Those floundering fools in their solo acts.

Like demon-possessed doofuses strung out on crack.

She’s like that mutant, made out of metal.

Rock her or sock her, best case you’ll fettle.

Sometimes I wonder, is she really real.

Can I reach out and grab her. Can I touch her and heal?

Perhaps contemplation is artificially injected.

As my thoughts persist with suspicion suspected.

From where does her strength originate?

Is it divine and developed? Does it discriminate?

So I’ll wrap up this brief on this Heavenly creature.

As my mind leaves me crippled, a daydream believer.