A guy and his gal were abed,
when she looked over at him and said,
"The way your ***** is bent
is my only lament."
So sideways they did it instead.

I sat with a cat in my lap.
This cat is having a nap.
I wish she'd get off me,
I have to go ***.
This cat in my lap should ****.

This kitty is itty & bitty.
She jumped up to where I was sitting.
She needs to get down,
I'm wearing a frown.
My bladder is making me giddy.

So here I sit like a twit.
My lap must be made of catnip.
My need is so great
But she just won't vacate.
This cat in my lap should get.

there is no cure quite like for the dour
than clean pyjamas post-long-hot-shower.
with a sigh and a hug and flannel kisses to yer ***
hot shower/clean pyjamas: for when a day is done.

cannot hand in code
stupid website will not load
this is getting old

Canoodling his significant other,
Our man Henry was loathe to discover:
The **** had run dry,
But rather than cry,
He decided to go get the butter.

A window flung open with drapes barging into the room,
The sun's smug shine tells my toes that the rest of the world is awake,
And so my eyes make their first journey into today's forever.

Perhaps the zombie,
in all his uncanniness,
is truly the definition
of asymmetrical anthropomorphism.

Perhaps the zombie,
with his slow shuffling gait,
is really the word
when it comes to unbridled determination.

And perhaps the zombie,
his hunger bottomless,
is indeed the very picture
of a man who can have it all.

Marsh and Cope
lovers locked in embrace
took it upon themselves
to make each other great
by destroying what they had
all the while
mapping new life with old bones.

A test is nothing more

than:

one man's way of gauging

another man's way of calculating

another man's way of thinking

all so pride may be synthesized

in forms of correct and incorrect

put to paper for someone's satisfaction.

1 poet,
0 thought;
Wordy,
Often
Reaching
Deep,
Pens
Obdurately
Excessive
Mi­ssives.

Lying eyes
disguise goodbyes;
the Honest ones will tell you.

It's a special kind of ******
what makes you shake like this
and yer feelin' quite certain
that you're seein' red curtains

so

"*******!" you exclaim
and then you pop a vein
and you rage and shake a fist
because you're just. that. ******.

but

In the end it ain't your doin'
to the people that yer screwin'
and everyone can go to hell and
hey! — yer just the one to tell 'em.

There once was a man named Munn,
whose wife in bed was no fun;
but the horrible part
is when she would ****,
and say, "Get off, I'm all done."

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 ***?

Be Not Bitter in Thine Writings,
for They Be Most Wondrous Things;
Catacombious Monstrocities,
Though You May'st Conceive Them.
Words Stray'd and Pluck'd into Near-Woven Dressings,
Gone Fade with Thine Temperament—
These Things that You Shrug and Forget!—
Shall ****** Adventures unto the Intrepid,
Kind Caretakers as yet Unknown to These Days.

It's Christmas Eve
and here I sit
drinking a drink
and giving a ****.

The mistletoe's hung
way up in the air
on the semi off-chance
that you'll give a care.

With stockings and trimmings
and **-hoes and tree
and candies and dandies
and gifts not for me.

So welcome to Christmas
a wonderful time
with tannins and balms
and lonely red wine.

My cat howls at night. I sometimes wonder why.

I don't think it's 'cause he's lonely.
The door is open a crack and he knows how to get in.

Maybe he's going deaf. I heard that can happen.
"They howl real loud, like echolocation."

Or maybe my cat is a mutant.

All I can tell you, when he starts up like that,
is when I call his name he stops.
And comes into the room.
And jumps up on the bed.
And starts to purr.

So here's what I think—
that maybe what he's doing,
when he howls like that,
is scaring away the monsters so we can sleep.

I occasionally
skip a beat
just
to watch you falter.

Pure shadow, breathing;
seeing the question in your embrace —
     the color of heat...birds in a secret storm.  

Let's  be  tight.

Weak legs.

A crazy shine.

A dry catch, safe;
love's stone a spent breeze —
     laughter's lot...short emotions that needed to rise.  

Gentle sounds.

Closer.

Eat a star.

Minds died, began;
cool facts giving way —
     later...night's secret covers the skin.

She's looked, you speak, finally, yes;
Dancing the talk of a child...
Hearts strong shall fight soft,
Falling, young, set, and sorry...
Held, they gave peace.

Soft music and falling leaves.

She's spoke, you look, finally, yes;
Knowing she heard sad in a bright laugh...
No reason, her mouth at peace,
Her eyes bring dear hell;
Lost, there is no longer a longer.

Snow brings the cold.

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.

You'll never know a fairer pod,
Than when you meet a therapod;
For a therapod will care a lot
And doesn't want to scare a ***.

So if you chance to meet a therapod,
Don't think that it's a terror pod –
A therapod is a rarer sod,
Unless you meet a pair o' pods.

In the end,
you've only managed to pull the trigger first.
And yet,
knowing full well the consequences,
I struck on,
hoping that someday my love would fall true.

It was my mistake.

How was I to know
— a man bereft of possessions and purpose —
that you
— glorious, important, so very very tired —
required more than:
                    a single glance,
                              a sidelong smile,
                                        a tender touch,
                                                  a silent moment...

These things no longer exist,
or, at least,
if they do,
I have no idea how to find them with you.

Whomever
Whatever
Whenever:
You'll never win.

Anyone
Anywhere
Anytime:
Many ways to sin.

Underneath
Overpass
Inside-out:
Ride it 'round the bend.

Converse
Immerse
Reverse:
Disperse it to the wind.

They said you can't do that with a cat—
The world's not ready for that!
And at first they jeered,
but then they cheered,
'cuz my cat is the fanciest hat.

Wasn't she the best ever?

I was always impressed with
her wit
her beauty
her intelligence
her charm.

It's too bad you never got married, eh?
I had a bit of a crush on her too!
She was a cutie.

I bet she was a good kisser, huh?
Was she a good kisser?
Do you remember kissing her?
Was it nice?
Pretty nice?
Are you worried that one day you'll forget what it was like?

Wouldn't that be sad?

My excuse?
                            —  I
                                  never learned
                                  to write a sonnet proper.

I walk the miles,
ruining smiles,
people throwing stones;
I find the hours,
failing powers,
spiteful hateful man.

A lazy man,
adoring fan,
watched God with pride;
yet his lord,
wielding sword,
slices low and wide.

Ice-age glacier,
species erasure,
nothing here for me;
I am above it,
I am summit,
I am Lord to thee.

Bow before,
come adore,
all smitten by my grasp;
death to all,
'gainst my pall,
striking as an asp.

And still...

I walk those miles,
body piles,
bearing a disease;
I am true;
Lord to you,
it is I you must appease.

My Day is done
and all is calm;
the sun goes down
and the sky is long.

The breeze picks up
as night comes to play;
the branches a-rustle
for the leaves they display.

The woods they sparkle
'neath a darkening hue;
a veil is falling,
as if on cue.

Thus I sit so quiet
near a gnarled old tree;
thus the shadowed woods
are calling to me.

I'm at peace!
The first in a while;
for my Day is done
and now I can smile.

Wanna try a kiss?
Yes I think we should
Take our relationship
Where a relationship would.

Wanna get a room?
Wow that was fast
But I'm all in
If you think it will last.

Breakfast at noon?
I suppose that's just fine
As long as we go
Where I usually dine.

Living together?
I'm a bit unsure
Your stuff's already here
It was kind of a blur.

I'm all squinty-eyed this am (A.M.)
with a certain je-ne-sais-quoi
here,
in my brain,
today.

Strumblin' about, trippin' on stuff;
My body responds not as it should!
I'm in dire need of coffee or bacon or toast or ELECTROLYTES
(my friend assures me this is so).

Hands up! Who's all broken?
and disjointed
                         and confuddled
                                                     and hell — bedazzled!?

The sparkles in my eyelids won't go away
and-
I've-
had-
the-
hic-
cups-
since-
last-
night.

What a great time tho? I think...YES.

Later that day...
— Happy ***** Times!

I'll never understand
what could possess
one to tell one
that they have no skill?

How do you not know
that they know how to do
things you could never
master yourself?

And what if they ****
at math or soccer or
just being social
and stuff?

Maybe they have
this awesome innateness
that endows them ability
to rock your wife's socks off?