thinking, land  
knowing, fly
hide your mouth; she's looked, knows different!

meaning: grow round filled with reason

Coming!

listen to the floor making red noises...

Hey girl

I know you don't care anymore
but
I'm still thinking of you
(and will be for a long time to come)

I'm sorry about that.

It's...hard
I guess it gets easier every day
or at least
it used to be like that

I don't know why you're still in my head.

I hope you're well
I wish I could hear your voice
at least once
I miss you so much

Again, sorry about that too.

Love you poupee

What words do I capitalize in a title?
Which rules do I apply?
I never asked for this to happen
but here I am all the same.

I'd ask you for instruction,
maybe get a helping hand;
it's just I know you know
you'd never let me try.

So what words do I capitalize in a title?
How do I proceed?
I used to know how this is done
but that was long ago.

Hellz yeah!
I wanna do that!
It'd be a right gas
and
the night is young!

The best part will be:

...waking up in the morning?

Pfft. We should go here.
But
He can't.

Lame.

Movin' on -
Hey!
Dude, it's gone.

Y'know it's not right.
Dude, it's gone.
Yeah.

****, that stuff is nasty!
Does.
Not.
Matter.
Movin' on!

Out?
Need it.
Call it.
Got it.

Safe.

Copious amounts of lava
seeping over the table
steaming mugs of java
cutting off the cable.

Rara Avis is a Latin term
no sneakers for me today
eaten by the Conqueror Worm
during the month of May.

******* drugs
and Sugar Twin
white punk thugs
chasing Rin-Tin-Tin.

Rainbows of black
babies howling out loud
guerilla attacks
a huge raver crowd.

Windshield wipers
with ribbons attached
little sticky diapers
and gates made of thatch.

Alphagetti monsters
smoking a jay
card-carrying punsters
greasy burgers on a tray.

Cute cotton *******
on lithe little nymphs
disappearing shanties
owned by drugged-up pimps.

Rhymes gone bad
a little cash in my pocket
hanging at the pad
and watching Davy Crockett.

People eating doughnuts
***** up on the beaches
hips that do the low strut
and blood ******* leeches.

It all comes down
to a single final thought:
was the Queen's big crown
really traded for a ***?

I guess there really is only
one way
to get over someone.

Or

Is it that there's only one way that you know of?

You take a little piece, you give a little piece, right?

So

Maybe it's not really a matter of
getting over it
but rather a matter of
deciding how big that little piece is going to be?

Is it more important that each piece fit?

Or is it more important that each piece be worth something?