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trf Jan 30
HA
it's a bone dry west
for a cool east summer
i'm steeple chasing baby
from a derby to a dungeon

orange cones on the left
bright beams on a Hummer
i'm flicking off the bird
from nevada to wyoming

get this load off my chest
it burns April like a stoner
i'm a bayou baby
from the streets of magnolia
HA, fuckit. you figure it out
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this **** kin “FAKE” hemp  
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).

As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
   specializing in cannabinoids
   my favorite delta-9-tetra
   hydrocannabinol (THC),

   isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
   while athwart the *****
   i.e. measuring adequate perforated
   square roto root er, sans
   regular toilet tissue paper
   prior to completing important

   private business matter
   on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
   and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
   in drag at a joint where Billy ****  

   banged on by the hands of
   a phenomenal drummer
   taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
   while blowing  fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,

   and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
   who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
   nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
   whose demise an awful blot

per southern cause during
   the Civil War and if anachronism
   to receive medicinal aide available
   instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
   of misfortune on the battlefield),

   whose faith the any almighty power
   could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
   to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
   free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp

   entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
   as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
   the analogy with a kumquat?
Can't

I can't kiss ***
Must be something i ate in class
Or was it mother's scalding tongue
That'd scorch ya just for fun
Or maybe brother's saucy mouth
That'd shake ya 'til all the loot fell out
No I can't kiss ****
Can't figure out this stuff
You might call me a brat
Say I'm a loud whiskered alley cat
But it could be that bull in ****
Dying for just another hit
Whatever it is
I can't seem to kiss ***
And if I did now I'm done
Maybe it sounds crass
But god help me
I'm no good at kissin' ***
I might get hell for this
An
You might think I'm takin' the ****
But I just don't have that kinda class
I just can't
I  can't kiss ****
Can't is included in my collection The [email protected] books.....I grew up in an Irish family that was rather blunt in terms of saying stuff about others or situations outside of them.. However there were deeper feelings that were not talked about and it not that kosher to talk about. I'm learning to be more vulnerable and unashamed of expressing feelings that may be uncomfortable but important for me and for my relationships with others...Can't feels like an antidote to living part of my life without authenticity.
Zero Nine Oct 2017
Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.

It's like half past ten PM
While it's true I've never been
the bread winner
I still wake and bake at dawn

Although, I'm losing sleep
They can see a tired person
hurting from existing as an
addictive personality

Although I'm losing sleep,
I'm positive this is the first
time I've felt fulfilled
since the last time

Believe me, my instruments are mine
when i'm the instrument - ally
conditioned queen
Believe me, my work is justified
when all it is, is time ill spent
in the end

Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.

Look at the
rewards
roll in

Oh yes, oh
yes, oh
yes, oh

Blue, purple,
and gold,
my goal

My
crucible
My
crucible

Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.

Oh joy, oh
joy, oh
joy, oh

How come in the meaning I'm promised new?
When you're my sole believer, what can I do?
What can I do but shoot and loot
til I become your monument?
Yeah yeah yeah.
-- but I just got to 275!
Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
sometimes you enter the maw of the beast;
severed heads lie around still watching,
and you march forth into the bowels of hell
fighting off fears, horrors and demons
own and foreign
for the ultimate prize
taking home the devil
Dae Staebell Jan 2016
Though I splish
Though I splash
*** I drink so fear my wrath

Behold my mate
Behold my captain
Cutlasses ring and we are laughing

Pity me not
Pity the foe
Sink him to the godless unknown

Plunder the hold
Plunder her chest
Strife we be so do not rest

Sink the English
Sink the Spanish
We rule here so we **** them

Free we are
Free we be
A lavish life is the one for me

If I am hanged
If I am dead
Fear not mate I swam to land

Cut your foes
Cut their friends
We rule this kingdom
    In the Queen Anne's Revenge!
A fun poem to show my appreciation for pirates. My favorite time in history.
EJ Navarro Jun 2015
If it was for me.
It could be meant to be.
There's a chance for you and me.

Asking her for a dance,
Is like counting the stars by hand.
Asking her for her hand,
Is a one-in-a-million chance.

If fairytales did exist, won't you stay and reminisce.
Counting days that we'll miss.

— The End —