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Olivia Kent Jan 2014
There was a chap called Charlie.
Who lived in separation.
In total world of degradation.
Father left when he were nine.
A raging alcoholic.
Charlie, his brother and his mother.
Sent off to the workhouse.
In the land of Lambeth.
No palace.
The family were ushered into areas of segregation.
Mother and children apart in our apparently grand nation.
Product of shame documented by satirists.
Dickens's favourite topic.
Poor folks made poorer,

In workhouses designed to embarrass.
Those already destitute,
Not by choice for sure.
Only crime being poor.
Dignity stripped.
Destroyed of heart.
Wrecked in health
To reduce their being even more.
God help you if you were not fit.
**** of the earth, you were purged.

We the Brits now get benefits,
Be grateful that we do.

___________________­____

Charlie found extreme success.
When as a film star of the silent kind.
With a plaque on the wall of his once posh house in Vauxhall.
His surname it was Chaplin!
By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jeremy Duff Oct 2012
It's funny how no matter where you go
everything is the same. No kidding.
I've been to San Fransisco and everyone is pretending to not be fake,
and I've been to New York and they're even bigger phonies.

I walked into town once, two miles from my house to the park.
I walked along the highway and stuck my thumb out the whole way.
No one stopped until this man on a motorcycle did.
He asked me where I was going and I said into town.
He asked where in town and I said the first thing that came to mind.
Charlies Cafe, I said. We rode to Charlies Cafe which was only a 20 minute walk from where we were but whatever.
He didn't have a helmet but that was fine.
He dropped me off. I never even went into Charlies.
I walked a half block to the gas station and went inside.
I grabbed an Arizona and walked up to the counter.
"Anything else for yah?"
"Yeah uh, a pack of Natural American Spirits."
I slapped a ten on the counter and the man asked to see identification.
I told him I didn't have any but I also wouldn't need change.
He sold me the cigarettes and the Arizona and didn't give me change. It's that kinda stuff that ****** me off.

And that's what I mean. You ask someone for something and they act like they're doing you a hell of a favor and then you waive some money under their noses and they're shining your ******* boots.

I got off the subway and to the venue.
There were people filing in and smoking flowing out.
I stood in line, bought my ticket and went in. Some ******* band a friend had told me about who was playing. I was meeting him there in 30 minutes but wanted to scope it out early. A girl wearing fishnet stockings was looking cute in a booth all by herself. I sat down in the booth next to her and ordered a drink. The waiter was nice enough to forget to ask about my non existent ID. I leaned over and asked the girl if I could refill her drink.
She looked at me disgusted and said "I will let you know, that I have a boyfriend."
Jesus, it's not like I asked to **** her or anything.
"Jesus it's not like I asked you to **** me or anything."
I returned my lean to my booth. I'm usually not so curt with women but this ****** me off.
My friend never showed up and I bailed during the opening act.
I walked all the way back to my apartment and smoked.
It started raining.

Cute girls, gas station clerks, weather, they can all be *******.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
you know, on that N86 bus listening to dikanda's
https://goo.gl/OAUjMe (ketrin ketrin),
while going to the brothel, where i kissed *****'s
eyelid skin i turned my heart into a lung...
and it burst akin to muscled stress of the softer tissue,
by heart was the black horse of the race...
she would only be worth £110 an hour...
but in my heart... a lifetime... so classical fm is
asking for three songs to be enlisted in the hall of fame
here are my three:
1. something to think about (christopher young) -
   hellraiser ii,
2. no time for caution (hans zimmer) -
    interstellar,
3. spectres in the fog (hans zimmer) -
     the last samurai, competing with
(4. any other name (thomas newman) -
     american beauty,
and....
5. carpe diem (maurice jarre) -
     the dead poets' society);
i always found classical music invoked
by fast image exchange most adhering
to a modern public... after all...
the notes written down are transliterated
from moving geometries
asking for a human face...
that one abstraction leaving another created...
so enriched we can be living and leaving here,
but leave and live here cradled and crawling
and nothing more than an attempt for
a crafted shawl of woollen care...
assuredly we were the blank canvas,
when the sheep and lion were clothed...
the lizard inwardly having its blood cooled...
and we the mediators...
to evolve from an origin of such biological diversity?
why will darwinism claim to be a humanism
and let no humanism in?!
if darwinism branched from science for a populism
of understanding prepositions as propositions
(given that propositions are allowed expression
with far many more complex words than prepositions,
given the former are deemed a nature or origin
and the latter a nature of coordination)
why allow it a humanistic simplicity
and complicate humanism to a non-expression's
extent of a complexity? darwinism cannot grasp
humanism's complexity per se, for each its own per se
allowance... darwinism cannot relate to humanism,
since humanism deals with the one diluted into the many,
while darwinism deals with the many concentrated into
the one:
and noting the varied dimensional usage of pronouns,
the singular (engaging), the singular (disengaging),
the plural (effective), the plural (ineffective),
to use but a few among others... how would a self,
as either realistically concerned or as expressed
in an atlas pose when one individual speaks of a species
to ever survive... to speak of humanity per se,
is to not speak of being human per se (a self),
but as if under a constant threat from either internal
or external stimuli, it's to speak as if human
but hardly being human... darwinism only said
in simpler terms 1 = ~∞ 0 1 (one equals
approximately infinity denying one... expressed
further: one equals approximately infinity denying
oneness, hence ethnicity, hence disparity,
the infinite approximate is due to the no. of equally
represented identities of reflection as one's akin
in historical content for a vanity representation
of ego) / although there's a parallel disparity:
1 = ∞ 0 ~1 (1 equals a reasonable infinity
of the semblance collective, as approximated within
one's own constitution, denied by the constitution
of the semblance collectivised denying 1 its
oneness by a division, into pop. psychology
of subconscious, unconscious, ulterior and posterior
assembling of identification in order to relate
a concrete un-divisible one, to a oneness
of ~∞ 0 ∞†, whether governed by animate or inanimate
things, worthy of either representing
∞ = 0 ~1, or ~∞ = 0 1 (infinity equating itself to
a denial of an approximation of one,
or approximate infinity equating itself to a denial
of one) - by most standards a collective power
increases, while an individual coercion with
such increase in power is diluted to mediocre representation
of what was once hoped for to be an individual...
as worded: i'm about to inherit a pickaxe, an igloo,
a herd of sheep, a land arable for regular hunts
to provide sustenance, but as i said, the oddity
of increasing vocabulary as body-building index muscle,
will hardly teach you the physics of quanta in
the realm of modulating grammar,
on the basic basis of grammatical as
a method of de-categorisation one word from it being
named, to it being acted upon as a termed way of
walking (differently), or otherwise.

†a bit much for me, an alfred jarry moment
at the end of dr. faustroll's opinions and exploits...
papa **** got the dangling essence of things:
je suis jarry among the je suis cherub charlies,
if poet does not appreciate other artistic mediums
he can't mediate them,
poetry is supposed to mediate all artistic expression
with platonic criticism... it's supposed to mediate,
with poets appreciating each and every craft...
whether sculpture we scrap metal stolen from a park,
or whether an oil canvas be worth as much as toilet
paper when the painter is alive, and millions more
when he's dead.. we need gravity a demanding
drama to extend drama into grammar...
poets have to become the middle-men of haggling,
they need to appreciate art in an elitist way
in order that art can't become genealogically defining,
like dramatics of the theatre lost between idols
of 1950s screening compared to idols of 19'90s screening...
we need poets as the glue stuck to every output...
we need to appreciate all art other than their own
to discover their own... we can't have the mindless
jealousy bribe us to reconcile composition,
so that poet against poet is still writing poetry...
he isn't... he's writing a polemic... and that's hardly
a dialogue... it's a mortifying analogue of monologue...
and we don't want poetry to be such a belittling
circumstance of the original intent of practice,
why would a poet's rarity be reduced to
a market blasphemy of ultra-eloquent speech
in order that it might be used to scold?
why the jealousy? why?! it reeks of revenge
that only requires a Darwinism to include it,
as sustainable and necessary,
too many monkeys to create a single man...
too many difference in man from continental span
of africa, to asia... to even bother a standing ovation
origination in genetic scrip of a chimpanzee...
script wants man to be genetically above
a genetic script of a banana numbering more genes
that itself... the biodiversity of monkey
is akin to man... why would the two chiral statues
suddenly become gemini of explanation?
it all fits... but it stinks...
well, whatever that was... it's the pride of a language
that keeps darwinism alive...
but theology is closer to humanism than darwinism...
it's a compound logic, darwinism ends with with an ism,
an empiricism... and the only logic accounted for
is a logic of repeat... just look at the forms of these words...
formulated by L and Γ (origin of the kabbalistic interpretation
of allah)... keep the prefix akin to a suffix composed to
an enclosure... theology provides the better logistics
of expressing being human than an empiricism
known to be darwinism... after all a -logy tends to
repeat a systematic use of words...
empiricism a systematic use of facts...
easier to become bored of facts than words.
When you drink your Veuve Clicqout and eat your honey roasted ham.remember for a moment,
Barry Trent.
who sets his table in a tent on Hackney marsh,
he bends over,under harsh light,most nights
eating bread and jam.

Ham would be a luxury he don't see too much of those,
wearing clothes a size too small or sometimes just to big to fit,
but you don't really give a monkey's for the flunkies who live hand to mouth and living South as rich folk do
I bet you think your **** don't stink,
think on
one day we'll all be gone
and equalised.
In someone else's eyes you'll be the Barry Trent,bent and ghostly,
mostly.

Swings and snakes
it only takes one rung to fall,did someone ring the bell for hell,is it supper time?
A half filled bottle of Geneva gin
say,
Buddy can you spare a lime.
i sat down at the end of the day
having spent it
tending to my garden:

so much emotion is in my stomach
i doubt that i even have
a heart

3.5 grams of marijuana can last
me about a month
and i'm wondering: where was i in my 20s
when i smoked so little
i hear
heavy smokers obliterated
by the discovery of the Stretch of Time
time non-linear not
history
i better: sink feel this:
send those emotions to my *****
my genitals:
kneel and speak with my ***: relax
my ***:

then i think sometimes
i imagine speaking through my ****
rather than my mouth
when i think i sometimes
imagine speaking through my ****
rather than my mouth
because i'm no politician rhetorician
and i'm getting the blues
afraid of myself:
why am i so stone so Sisyphus
why am i so nervy ******
playing an IDLE GAME

games were so different back in the day
of Mario Bros
now there are IDLE games...
you get fed adverts
your pocket sized DEEP BLUE
overheats
and then you have to start hacking
the phone
because there is apparently moisture
in the charging socket
but there isn't

because when you hit ON button
i smoked half a joint
tonight
and i want to write
so i also drank a whiskey...
or two...
no... best keep this Election Night
giggles under shades
i know who's going to win
when in Europe there is the Right
while in England it's: Conservatism
but random people
talked to me on the train about politics
and i was coming home
tired

but beside that: just reading habits:
who can spaghetti monster
and the custard clot Yellow King
of Hapsburg and Lovecraft
an Austrian monstrosity hanging
over the German people

bad habits: like really bad habits:
i have too much on my mind
that even summoning an *** for a mouth
will not do:
now i have three mouths in my head:
bleak Corinthian dynamic
oh jeez:
jazz? maybe:

                                Zukofsky's A
and when i heard that voice
bro: i was over-tell: myself that the silence:
oh those wind chimes bother
me why did we invent them
when not living on islands for most of the time
the voice bothered me
i'll finish the joint when i'll head
to bed:

the best anything is 1/3 bourbon and 2/3
whiskey
i created a mutant spirit: at 40% loading...

i'm scared of myself for not being a worldly man:
an ambitious man
a politician:

democracy is:
when in its infancy as an idea of governing people
by people
why so many loops and snakes and ladders?
i'm not an ambitious man
i have no world demands
although i'm sitting on wealth
and with that comes:
pips of cherries and trees in winter...
and *******: plenty of *******:

while Wimbledon is on
and the Euros
and the elections across Europe
and now England:
how many prime ministers?
elections are called in times of crisis
i saw Cameron, May, Sunak, Liz Trolley...
i saw Blair, Brown and... who?
ambitious men:
i am afraid of myself:
not being an ambitious man:

less but more Harold Norse contemplating
not being a male-man
(ha ha, politico automachine
spell edit, introductory
alliance with "woke" terminology:
old ****: geezer, gas baboon)
because not prone to violence
or appreciative of sports notably football
just mad about poetry

but mirage mirage:
what a combination on ***
and the trans train: of alphabets:

     LINDA DE SOUSA
    with / & WADE WILSON:

scary to think there are even people
there:
on the "other side" of tax collectors
and i've been with ******
and there are people there:

we're so dynamic in our dualism beside
the mind
that there are parallel lives being led
with parallel fates being fed
in the simplest of languages: by one: in one:

i had to escape: become schizophrenic-schizoid:
how?

i'm bilingual so...
backup banning floppy disks in Japan
(if you read the newspapers:
you'll know)
the 3"15            was that the t.n.t. detonative
ascribing ref.?

           i need to write in English but listen
to music in German:
notably folk: folklore bands
Faun: federkleid:

i just need to because otherwise
i can't stomach
the life of the one tongue
and this rabbit rabid ethnicity
based upon
nothing but the tongue:
or two:

now the flood
of memories: subtle:
when i laughed at my mother speaking
English over the telephone:
i was a terrible brat
but today i am old
and older and at least
she's not a language confrontation
of lackey: suite...

the bible and the quran can exist
and... whatever:
but i want to write a contender:
antitoxin...
or toxin:

ah the ambition awakes and i'm delusional
again with my lover...
tub tub... tub tub:
three little finger flickers
then her tasting herself
after i finger her and put my fingers
into her mouth...

but Heidegger became real:
schematics
of external security:
at Wembley: someone was flying
a renegade drone over the south
of the architecture:

FOOTPRINT? my ***...
charlie 1: olympic steps
charlies 2: oh jeez... never heard of
positions 2, 3, 4...
charlies 5: Atlantic Way
Charlies 6: north east staircase
Charlies 7: south east staircase
charlie 8: south east ramp
charlie 9 and charlies 10: gate 3
(with quadrant Romeo)
usually Frenchie: endearing?

charlie 11: zig-zag alley
charlie 12: Spanish steps:

da-sein: concern:

Om om: the Mongol? began winking at me:
did i look panicked?
pan-caked:
i thought i was going to enjoy
ACDC
when they came on: i did:

apparently i was working outside
and i heard the better acoustics
and i almost played my guitar the last
time i was bringing
salt and sugar and toilet paper from
the attics:
i once upon a time wanted
but was not fated with either guitar
or chemistry as supplier
of bogus narcotics and to alleviate
the softness of this world
while the primitive aspects were
concerned: of no concern...

                 but i didn't: one handshake
i wonder what that is in Katakana:
handshake...
ooh! no Cambridge Dictionary hyphen
assertion:
it only took Charlie 6 not note to
CONTROL:
medical emergency:
possible concussion
head split open
falling over traffic barriers
metal to calcium
infestation with iron: this calcium

what? call an ambulance?
am i the ******* patron Saint of the Hospitaller
or something?
the Wembley footprint?
judge of what? character?
the guy is bleeding like a monk:
tonsure...
the natural bird-line of his nesting hair:
call an ambulance?!

two quadrants showed up
*******:
three charlie call signs
then the External Manager:
LIMA ECHO...
how the **** was i supposed
to call an ambulance:
hell's bells was playing
in the background:
sure, i was at the ac/dc gig:
got two t-shirts:
for me and my father
but i was working:
getting paid for X
but not getting paid for
reinvigorating the reinterpretation
of Heidegger's Dasein...

not the ambitious man:
i "forgot" to text my availability to Lyndon:
***** Scouser: yar...
and i forgot to text back my lover
and that's just that:
if poetry:
well democracy works when you
have individuals like Damocles
and the swords of Saddam Hussein:

work... but when you have
democracy contra democracy:
people are not infringing on your way
in living:
today i was visited by a Conservative
minion campaigner
and there my ambition stumbled
and i became this
devilish little man
of little things
and that was just fine:
since god is not c.c.t.v.

              demonic in flavor or anything
more than the 1
in the eternal decimal pointer:
UNDIVISIBLE:
UNDIVISABLE:

   1
       not: rather: 0.111111111111111...

1/9:             there are NINE: nein?
NINE HORSES OF THE APOCALYPSE:
five are missing:

             boredom!
                  madness!
          technology!

i found at least 3: got kicked in the head
by a white horse in the moonlight: almost...

            PEACE!             that's four: the horse
of peace: peace is like a war:

         conquest?         contra the mortal quest?
from the Vatican:
what 7 deadly sins?
  how about the 8 realistic horses?

conquest i will do like the synoptic
readers did unto
the apocryphal readers:
i will: turn: the other cheek..

   you savvy: drop drool and lip
blossom: no? maybe spring in New York
and in central park...

the horses are running:
War Rower
             Peace Pacifier
  Famine Fetishes of Fat
Death the Central (Power)
Boredom and Brew Dogs

how many horses? i need a chariot:
no carriage: just two archers...
5...                      3 more?
borrowed from the classical
sense of geometry
Greco:HYMAN:HYMN
ITALICS:WOMEN:He:did':brew:'t

          HALF-DEATH: horses of dementia:
needle? thread: extension of grass?
so much *** of glitter... no?

      horse of TECHNOLOGY:
the Solipsist: the St. Augustine
with his Soliloquy: once: Soliloquies
like the injustices performed
upon Sisyphus by the gods:
while... the Titans were helpers:

Prometheus: and the un-ambitious man...
like: moi...

              have i covered more: not expected?
just the barrage of typo
and type: dot dot dot
while i watch a book burn unlike
a cross in the Chatter
Club Capitalism: wavering:
unsure where is Left Copernican
and Right Copernican:
north and summer
south and autumn
winter and east
and spring west:

                not sure: feel: disorientated...
slightly...
     almost got kicked in the head by a horse
but i was stupid enough to walk
in the woods
while angry at the blinding darkness
i had no ego for light-bulb
but instead overheard:
i will not be a **** enthusiast
i heard SATAN I N EXCELSIS...

                i must be a good enemy of man
if i am also the best friend of man:
however many times:
i try not to be one.
perhaps that's how it came to be:
to thus become:
learning how to pet animals:
minimizing talking to pets
like minimizing talking to lovers
during ***...
i make fun of my cats
automating onto onomatopoeia(s)
while they pretend to want to talk...

oh but i know animals can
talk the talk of humans:
i overheard my cat Oscar Darshan
tell me outright:
(ty) JABEŁ...

                i don't need to raise
children: people disbelieved me
i went to psychiatrists
*******
and your white powder SODA brain
freeze: powder! ambitious
sexed up men of grey: and suits!

          women can have children
and hear them speak all they want
but life for man?
when he hears a petted animal speak?
sorry:
aversions to your **** and
providing bus drivers and doctors:
i have mystique:
and my testosterone:

wasn't the fox at the Greenwich:
yeah: the hustler:
enough proof?
doubting Thomas you too?! not so much
a Peter?! Edie?
Robert Fox Dec 2013
I have almost died
I'll even admit that i have tried
But every time i took a leap
Everytime i landed in a crumpled heap
A little part of me would always know
That you both would willingly show
My broken, battered, beaten mind
That there is always something new to find
In this terribely tilted, lop sided life of mine
Prabhu Iyer Jan 2015
The many voices of the evening

                   gramophone the sky voice the cell phone
                   the tablet  the notebook, that monotone
                   observer of mutations purveyor of maladies
                   the persistence of memories, pale pink light sink

burning in the fires lighting up the skies

                   an old pang, smitten clang, the pain balm
                   mug-life, pen-knife, kettle-strife, all the sheaves
                   them echo-songs that haunt the drill-wells
                   that are cut wounded and wear fetching

chants, to an yearning oblation

                  bay leaf, curry leaf, yes, them colander coriander
                  there's a rhyme of charlies, looping from
                  our holy wars to now our holy hours with
                  the ombudsman, the omniman, the only God

who used to thunder for the ****

                 old Zeus, the Lord of Betelgeuse, him who we
                 called dead, exhumation, exculpation, exaltation
                 an ancient loneliness that calls from the nether
                 depths, now science, now freedom, now pagan.
Have you watched Charlie Wilson's war? It could ring a bell to why Charlie Hebdo was so long coming. Though the piece has a lot more, just mine the memes away...!
Emma Amme  Sep 2014
Small People
Emma Amme Sep 2014
“I want that one” I exclaim pointing to the unicorn on the bottom shelf. I choose this one because she seems sad because all she’s ever seen was peoples feet. I pick her because maybe no one else will buy her because she’s at the bottom shelf and taller people wont even see her. She is soft and white and has cotton candy pink horns, hooves and bows around her neck.
“It looks cross-eyed” my brother Charlie observes in a critical way that night at dinner. He’s just upset that he didn’t get to pick anything because it isn’t his birthday. It doesn’t matter though, the new member of my stuffed animal collection is named Sparkles, and nothing anyone says will change that she is my new best friend.
After dinner everyone goes to walk the dog and I bring Sparkles, because it would be silly to leave her home by herself. We drive down the road and pretend to have tea on the beach. To my happiness, everyone sits in a circle. Sipping on tea and complimenting each other on clothes we aren’t wearing, food we aren’t eating and things we didn’t do, I’m surprised that even Charlie is partaking. The sun begins to set and we begin to pack up, or rather my Mother and Father pack up while Charlie holds Sparkles by the scruff of her neck and threatens to throw her in the bushes.
“Sparkles is gonna get lost Em, too bad you cant catch me” he cries running towards the thick brambles.
“Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting her!” I screech after him, desperatly trying to overcome his head start. But i’m too late. By the time I get to him he is already preparing to throw her into the prickers.
“NO!” I yell as I watch Sparkles get launched into the 8 foot tall bush of thorns.
I shove Charlie into the bush, which results in cuts all up his arms and back.
“Emma,what are you doing?!” my parents exclaim coming at the sound of Charlies cries.
“He threw Sparkles”
“Thats never an excuse for pushing” they scold.
“But..Spark”
“No Emma, you should have thought of that, we have to go fix Charlie” im cut off
They don’t understand. Sparkles made it so that everyone drank tea together, and stood for the small things to be noticed. She was my best friend, we were both small things standing up to big people. Of course they don’t understand. Big people don’t know about small people problems, they only know about fixing what has been broken. I want to rewind to when we all were talking about the fantasies of castles and secret twin siblings, where we were all small people for a minute.
Virginia Nicholson

How To Build A House In N-Dimensions

1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code.

2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood.

3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint.

4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience.

5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.
Dickens we got
while the Beadle's got the lot
and we,
don't win no jackpot but that's a dot on the card
for those who have or have had it hard.
Just bring the bowl of gruel and we can fool ourselves once more, that we're being fed the milk and honey,
but ain't it funny
I'm no longer hungry or willing to eat from the pan of slop,
Dickens we got,
and if this our lot
it don't seem very much.
Bardo  Jul 2020
Bootylucious
Bardo Jul 2020
O! Bake me a cake of your lovely
   sweet ****
And I'll eat it, savouring every bite
How I'd love to collapse my face right
   into it....

That throne upon which she sits
The sheer arrogance magnificence of
   it.

O! I've been up her hills
And down her valleys
But I ain't ever seen anything
Like her two cheeky Charlies.

O! I love their lazy swagger
Would love them served to me on a
   platter.

Her wonderful pert and Queenly
   bottom
Her splendid imperious behind.

So you can keep your views on
   Donald Trump
And fundamentalist religion
Me! All I want are thoughts of you
And your beautiful curvaceous
   bottom.
A girlfriend of mine send me a lovely photo of her bottom, trying to entice me LOL.
Do you remember when Friday was exciting,
when you couldn't wait to finish work
and plug the night in?

we're all adrift now, the
castaway and every day
is just a day,
no special nights at all.

Tinged by despair
unhinged but hanging there
we wonder should we fall
would there be a safety net?

— The End —