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romane May 2014
You never talked to me that much,
And we're not even that close,
Yet you have observed me
Like an open book,
And gave me letters.
I still remember the time
When I seemed to be
Going out of my mind,
And things have gone out of hand
I just found a piece of paper
On my desk with;
Words so soothing
Like a cold wash of relief
Words so soft like a cotton
And your name,
Lousily scrawled at the bottom
It's been a lousily-bad day because a thief stole my front bike wheel
& I am bleeding like a Russian prince on day 1 of this ****** cycle
& I learned that Tito Jackson was not the ****** brother of Michael
I wrung your neck like a gay biker on acid could if he were on T.V.
or like a Gypsy might, cold from linearity in a Czechoslovakian sea
This churning emotional turmoil nearly killed my neighbor in 1998
when he was ******* ugly ******* in a hobo shack on Pontiac Lake
It's been a lousily-bad day because a thief stole my front bike wheel
& I am bleeding like a Russian prince on day 1 of this ****** cycle
& I learned that Tito Jackson was not the ****** brother of Michael
Wayne Cochran is dead, & soon he will be buried on an island with
dead X-princess Diana, so Wayne's dead corpse'll have to be ferried
by ferry, because this cadaver is too fat, by swimmers, to be carried
Medically, in this Haitian climate, my 4 **** lips are soft & vibrant
I could pull my fancy Ocean City taffy across your puffy, ready lips
or crack ribs that float above Tongan-girdled hips while I yuck it up
with nips, spooks & 4 ***** in junks that will be sunk like drunken
ships on bloodless, gutless, rudderless, maiden-headed maiden trips
I always make delicious pie crust with top-quality-white-pig-fat lard
& later, so ******* won't steal it, I smear pig **** on my E.B.T. card
I check my manly genitals, I check them a lot, to make sure that my
impressively-large ****, that everybody loves, has not been shot off
Play dead David Cassidy's song, “Sitting on a Pile of Pig Parts” for
those here, who've been to jail, but who've never done it up the rear
I told David, “You might cram walnuts up your **** and blame me
for the coffee crop failure in Spain, before Susan Dey goes insane.”
Many years ago a turnip farmer bought an *** to pull his turnip cart
because he supplied the turnips to the produce department at Kmart
1 day when his wife was turnin' tricks with the lot lizard Kara Jean,
who was the most relentless ****** the farmer had ever seen, a new
Kmart caught fire & was completely destroyed & everyone was sad
I kissed a married twosome of ****-divers last week, 1's a tall ****
school marm, all legs & lipstick, & the other is at her ****-*** peak
Halifax hospital's awful, awfully happy to give normal, ***-abiding
*****, 6 Thanksgiving Day *** ****** with Tom turkey drum-sticks
Consider my wealth as it is considerable even what you'll not see &
I'll pay for stuff that is too big to steal, that is too big to steal for me
Put your head on my shoulder, hem-stitch it on for good, for I'm the
nuclear life of elite human power forcing you to act like you should
Awakening dead kills a head-achingly wakeful state that men dread
You took back your fake teen love suddenly like a godless heathen,
to focus on a lonely guy you camped in the forest with called Ethan
1 day Missy, you're goin' to find a dead whale on your porch with a
letter that says: "Dear Miss Breanna, I mailed to you a dead whale."
Remember what has been said, after your only Richard #22 is dead,
Breanna #21 my pretty pet, will suffer from biting, post-petty regret
Like a ***** ****** with runny genital ******, a ***** ***** gave to
me, runny genital ****** I didn't need that hurt #6 ***** after I peed
1 moment, you are eating peanuts with a homosexual on a bridge &
the very next moment, you are tossing the ****-****** off the bridge
We will play grab-*** when our ***** are up for grabs, after picking
off scabs where snipers stood, on a roof, as pink powder puffs ****
Let us play grab-*** where our ***** are up for grabs, after scraping
off scabs as snipers would from the roof as powder-pink puffs puke
Witch, I've moved on, my sub-zero, hypothermical, steel-brassiered
witch ***, so hoist up your lard ***, waddle out & ******' get over it!
Do not fault me for stiffening my tip's nip into a scary pose because
I picked strips of ****** paw prints 'cross Laredo's landscape of my
prairie rose, without trimming the glued-on nails of my 7 hairy toes
Sixty streets we could pave with a ****** in my blender circling me
for days, chilling with 8 Mile 'Troit *****-homies who call me Dave
I want my ******* to be much larger, but not as big as a tow boat or
a barge or the Titanic, or the Love Boat or a warehouse garage door
To enhance 2 ***** I'd made drawings in 1 sittin' for Vietnam vets,
who said that the V.C. can be defeated in 10 years, L.B.J. permittin'
My passions are: 10 daily epilepic seizures, pimping my ** *******,
telling lies about Hillary, Honduran flag abuse, hobbling & limping
because I am incapacitated & loyal, after burnin' out #12 heater coil

— The End —