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While constipation kept me in arrears,
asper daily writing,
     thus ordinarily straight forward
     practiced process culling material,

     (a daily endeavor generally mastered
     by your truly), this moment bares
with more difficulty, thus derriere's
functionality created backlog

     (of personal business),
     hence presenting literary chops,
     a real ****** today,
disgruntlement with ***** Pack,

     (which gripe flares
cheeks) pitted me considerably
     behind schedule, so...here's
the scoop (hoop fully solid explanation

     for my absence) amidst
     virtual chattering class
     otherwise known as Face booking,
     Instagramming, and Whatsapp

     pin with ma Jeers
zee Boyz'n the hood,
     ah...also dem "Back Street Boys"
     oh mother f*er...,

     I just learned day got eliminated
     and blocked, (cuz o' their wiped out,
     wasted, sunken,
     flushed, dumpy untidily

     bowled over appearances),
     Sargeant Scott Coreless forced their
     evacuation citing Lumineers
     as more *** toot,

hence the emcee then welcomed,
     opening dreck "Johnny On The Spot,"
     and the "The Proctologists,"
     who performed before nares

     Naked Lady sighted spectators, with
     lovers spooning within cheeky pairs
     otherwise, essentially a pooped out crowd
     sitting on their haunches,

while myself perched
     some distance away
     with my comfortably numb tuckus
     atop the porcelain Goddess

     a awaiting emetic to expel
for iCloud to finish updating
before continuing with sign out...
     from this Macbook Pro,

     which aye sheepishly pro state
as the long winded soup peer
re: or (flatulence riddled) explanation.
the guy from North Carolina*
and his Ohio
CHICK
teamed up together to create
a deceptive
TRICK

dubiously they presented their ruse
on the poetry
SITE
by conjuring several personas
for posting a
WRITE  

this subterfuge was supposed to be
a secret at
HP
but they'd not bargained on the poets
who had
ESP

the wayward pair did excel  
in cunning
CHARADES   
taking other penners on
such beguiling
ESCAPADES

ploys aplenty
clever
HOODWINKING  
a fishy smell rather
offish and so
*STINKING
Àŧùl Apr 2017
I am too tired to live on,
The memories are bitter.

I am so tired to love on,
Karma is a stinkin' thin'.

I am far more interested in death,
As I live a ghoulish life in loneliness.
My HP Poem #1474
©Atul Kaushal
Thomas Maltuin Jun 2015
mother was right
she always was
I know for certain
you can't make people
love you not really
you can guilt a smile
contrarily though
the real thing
comes naturally
by its own terms
by no means will
you be welcome
to the radiance
if you walk in
by your own terms
do not try anything
without an invitation
nothing too interesting here, I may refine it later, but for now, it will just be boring old words

— The End —