Billy Shakes: poetry! Tis nothing but the product of vile fantasy, a pox on art and the cogitation of righteous men.

Billy Wordsy: And though with poetesses I often lie, my hate of the poem I cannot descry

Em Dicksdaughter: i had no time for,--
Poetry as once I thought--
Words puzzling leads to nought--

Langs Huwed: when you see words on a pa-
Ge I will kindly ask misters and misses that they remember MY work. My so-
Ng. That the workers may not write ... to the weary sax toon of fanatic reds.

Sylvie Path:a shock of light Pierces an empty **** coach corpse
Flowers shudder at the thought of the hateful word: Poetry

DD Goings: a poet slapped my(****** whole )face once and i(neverlikingpoetry) strapped him with dynamite.

Trying to forget how you gored me of my puffed up independence
How you slowly bled from my throat selfishness
How you dissected my lust like a tumor
How you flayed away my apathy
I'm trying

For your sake

O child of the sun
landlocked lover of the sea,
do not mourn the death of the day.

The black velvet sky
will wrap you in splendor,
stars adorning your crown,
fireflies spilling from your fingers.

Howl at the moon,
dance and laugh and summon chaos,
remember that you were born
with wildfire in your veins.

life is breathing soft
in between and balanced hard
between breaths of black