When all the seas run dry

when the moon in the sky 
is a big peice of pie it's perturbing
all martians are closet anthropologists
the quality of mercy is not strained 
hence the lumpy bits
seize the day gently 
by the scruff and rotate 
leeward on its axis
run rabbit ran the takeaway on gin lane
dry me a river 
as i dried a river 
over last weekend  
my baby don't send me clothes 
love can move fountain pens