In some subterranean cave
in my brain
lives a censor gnome
who approves ideas
before I publish them.
It’s his fault if they escape
before they’re fully dressed.
It’s his fault if they slip out
without their homework done.
It’s his fault if they forget the rules
from chapters in dull textbooks.
It’s his fault, if misunderstood, they get lost
in someone else’s brain.
Censor gnome gets all the blame.
He was asleep when this idea snuck out.