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Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.  
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.  
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.  
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my *****.  
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!

We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.  
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.  
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.

We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.  
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.  
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.  
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.

The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.  
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.  
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Àŧùl May 2017
"I will take you higher,"* he had said.
"Where will you take me,"* she demanded.
"Beyond the stars & nebulae," he professed.
"How will you take me there," she whispered.
"Come down on me as I sleep," he paused.
"And what will you do," she continued.
"Then I will take you higher," he gabbled.
"What is going to be your next move," she moaned.
"Land on me subtly, my lover," he invited.
"Oh sure, my fomenter," she groaned.
"As my rocket will launch," he gibbered.
"Oh yeah, my crazy tormentor," she cried.
"On a higher level our happiness will be."* he splattered.
My HP Poem #1536
©Atul Kaushal
Brent Kincaid Mar 2018
The Non-Subliminal Criminal
High Priest of Hypocrisy
The Diplomat of Draft Dodgery
The Great Example of Paying Test-Takers

The Loudmouth of Wealthy Fakery
The Main Proof of Miseducation
The Nanocrat of Non-Payment
Potentate of *******

Sultan of **** Patronage
The Grand Poobah of Poopoo
The Big Wheel of Blather
The Salesman of Bull-puckey

High Lama of Skullduggery
The Master Purveyor of Inaccuracies
The Pride of Misrepresentation
The Scion of Misdirection and Nepotism.

The Black Knight of Spite.
The Grand Lizard of Hate and Bigotry
The Fomenter of Torment.
The Master of Catastrophe

The Master of the Quick Disaster
The Worshipper of War by Proxy
The Lover of Lies and Liars
The Promiser of Pusillanimity

The Handmaiden of Bribery
The Worshipper of Massive Greed
The Purchaser of Fake News
The Dandy With Unseen Clothes.

The Undead Ghost of the Capitol
The Horrible Haunt of the Presidency
The Embodiment of Embarrassment.
The Shamelessness of Gross Shuckery.
You know who it is, make up your own names for him.

— The End —