What Would Suffice

Misshapen sculptures are a specialty
Of artists like my brother, working small
But dreaming big. Still, must you heed the call
Simply because you have a calling? See?
There's plenty of odd stuff's occurred to me
That I've refrained from doing: there's a mall
I wanted to blow up; our car would stall,
We didn't just abandon it, did we?

Our lives become misshapen via roads
We haven't taken, walls we didn't build,
Or woods that we passed by. Mortally chilled
By frost, we undertake the cost, in toads,
In golden showers, flowers, bad diodes,
Bad epodes, strophes, trophies. Blood's been spilled.