☹In '82 Alex de Jonge's Life and Times of Grigorii Rasputin revealed
☹that as a 20th century strannik Father Greg was no less easily killed
by 4 bullets, a club and pastries that were potassium-cyanide-filled
Frank Sinatra thought of chocolate kisses while singing “My Way”
before driving his what's-her-name down the old Hershey Highway
to dance the merengue, to patrol the wharves, to giggle & to sashay
& to promote the premisal sewage that filthy, queer parents are gay
Le Nègre Prix de Triomphe goes to Heidi Klum's seal-hung lancer
whose skin's a mucopussy mess from discoid lupus not lung cancer