vintagecellular - Hello Poetry

there are so few balloons I’ d choke on outside so few rubber balloons to **** on

0

Feb 15, 2022

Feb 15, 2022 at 12:03 PM UTC

there are so few balloons I’ d choke on outside so few rubber balloons to **** on

But I will not bay over a lamb — Nor will I say there is respect for an idea — That never should be warranted — If such idea enjambs with any virus — Or, if is not to qualify the use of crack — Given that there is the privilege of **** — I will not bay over anybody’s lamb — I will, though, hold my tongue, to wet my arid lips — Your son uses zucchini improperly — And we all babble around Crowley — In grey fields, where the brain bubble popped — final- ly.

0

Feb 15, 2022

Feb 15, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC

I would smoke crack with Crowley

But I will not bay over a lamb — Nor will I say there is respect for an idea — That never should be warranted — If such idea enjambs with any virus — Or, if is not to qualify the use of crack — Given that there is the privilege of **** — I will not bay over anybody’s lamb — I will, though, hold my tongue, to wet my arid lips — Your son uses zucchini improperly — And we all babble around Crowley — In grey fields, where the brain bubble popped — final- ly.

13

though cannot howl without having my voice CRACK at the new-loon-whomever in quiet stride before me.

0

Jan 19, 2021

Jan 19, 2021 at 6:04 PM UTC

yes, i was raised by wolves

though cannot howl without having my voice CRACK at the new-loon-whomever in quiet stride before me.

6

my pocket has one nickel & Mason's has a dime; a transient, red rubber ball ping-ponging deep faith with & for carnival trash is what falls from the raccoon's mouth past three; the midnight tour, troupe, & egret have plucked my eyes out before petit dejeuner & have all booked residence with lush vagabonds from some oasis on the curb of Suburbia, the ottoman wet where lore slumps the backs of the fairest; where, beyond equanimity there boons & beckons tightropes, slacked tension; and where folklore swells arteries like King Cake; the swamplands have my pocket picked; pock-marked truants (BOY) fiddling in fours during school hours, cakey margarine spread all over their legs as they eat grilled cheese and become, **** in the ambrosian daylight fogged out with figgy shade by thick, carpet-fondling curtains, sagging with secondhand soot.

0

May 25, 2019

May 25, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC

Boy

my pocket has one nickel & Mason's has a dime; a transient, red rubber ball ping-ponging deep faith with & for carnival trash is what falls from the raccoon's mouth past three; the midnight tour, troupe, & egret have plucked my eyes out before petit dejeuner & have all booked residence with lush vagabonds from some oasis on the curb of Suburbia, the ottoman wet where lore slumps the backs of the fairest; where, beyond equanimity there boons & beckons tightropes, slacked tension; and where folklore swells arteries like King Cake; the swamplands have my pocket picked; pock-marked truants (BOY) fiddling in fours during school hours, cakey margarine spread all over their legs as they eat grilled cheese and become, **** in the ambrosian daylight fogged out with figgy shade by thick, carpet-fondling curtains, sagging with secondhand soot.

17

You have survived the worst yet by conceiving the worst yet.

0

Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC

good news (theoretically speaking)

You have survived the worst yet by conceiving the worst yet.

1