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Mar 2017
I'm not manly or crafty enough to man up
& be craftsman of TLC you deserve.
A ****-nician of THC, like a Zyklon bidet
my exsufflation shafts your nerves.
But O Dark Cow up the **** w/ me,
couldn't my pissy poesy be yr
stroppeyote,
yr mephistoffee poppy,
e'en tho'
it's frowie faust flora & Daltonism's Rose?

These drab bayleavings are my horseshoe headgear
of Ishihara voyelles.
No reams o' mine boa-blent
so consummately to acoustics
of quinqcolour corolla
as Arthur's rainbow of assonance.
No:  no arch archy branch
of prismatic natter natty as prisms;
no pipecleaner petals which festoonophone
photic rootlessness 'pon a chromatocrooned
circumflex; nor mostexquisite
spectrographicanalysis (of Phlegathonic rapids' gases)
curved w/ bootivicious elan along the rhyme-bough,
as if a beauty on a rack on rewind. No,

Dark Cow
who it does not suit to be so dark,
not like satanicmillsheened,
collierycoated guidedogs of David Blunkett,
you're gonna havta slumit
in my 7th Tunket, where a rainbow is a lamebow,
&  the poet's at pyrite bottom of his *** of gold.
Best I can do for you is:

a Jospeh's kaliedocoat hanging garden of flyover,
or God's technicolour handlebar tash
when the Sun came out for 'Pride'
(hi-viz fiesta for velvetferrets & chutneydrinkers,
& ****** Craddock & ****** Devito
&... Him? Her? Draggy tran
twin for botoxbutchered Kim  Kardashian,
& Tran-ye West strumming a tranjo.
An' an am dram trans man
who used to be a woman in the wounded's white van,
wailing that she didn't wanna whannie).

Now, I'm cishet,
but as a poet,
it's often assumed, yunno,
I'm **** or atleast stye.
whannie = childhood East Anglian slang for vajajay, *******, ****, ****, ******, the pink bat's face.
Lysander 'Lice' Hardy-Pearce
Written by
Lysander 'Lice' Hardy-Pearce  42/M/East Anglia, England
(42/M/East Anglia, England)   
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