Bad Poetry Thursday: Dude, I'm Tripping Balls!

Said the Porpoise

In a lot of ways
A guitar string
Is like a cup tea.
Round tones and round handles
Reverberate in rounded chambers
A pluck can send a note soaring
and destroy the seeping bag.
The constant overbearing harmonies of
Black and green, of
Half and whole, of
Sustain and influenza, of
Black and tan
Can calm the noble savage.
And aggravate the ignoble savant.