Pressed hard against warm flesh in the barely illuminated darkness guesstimating the blessings of your fresh mess, I ingest the best and leave the rest unstressed. Soft caresses underneath the dress bring visions of ancestral ****** in jest. My accentuated ******* bereft of the simplest zesty scents leave jesters lamenting about the repressed nexus of flexing wreckers. Flickering trestles rustle as the mesh lays lifeless after undress and the pressures of the rescuers sheds ravenous blushers rushing and undulating such as plush calves do. Fissures, wet, impress impresarios investing in resting besties and ******* lechers; a pitcher, ditched by the rich, flashes in the marsh stressing the finches and leaching petroleum onto the beaches.   I reach for another peach and beseech the mashed potatoes makers, “just take a rest” –

What goes where and does what go there?
reminds me of that 'first base' sketch
by the three stooges,
but you probably won't remember them,
three funny men
from back when men were funny.

It's about money today,
comedy, although we laugh takes
second place,
first place goes to the impresarios
and who knows what they are.

I like theatre
backstage
the shows and
kissing in the back rows
is not just for cinema.

Life is a good play
I saw it once
but forgot
then saw it quite recently
found it
decent really

but I never got what
goes where
although I sometimes
reached third base.

A broken machine
It's motion impeded and destroyed
The mechanics of hard days ,
the plight and sad ways of a cur stray
Begging for sustenance along the street ,
where white collar impresarios meet , where
the heat can knock you on your feet
At the killer an killed divide , in some defiled , hollow portion of town , where criminal plus victim racked in hunger do rile* ...