"drainage" poems
We, the voice of the most oppressed,
Work in the profession remaining the most humble,
Throughout histories, as slaves our lives still remain tumble,
With our strangled necks, we are deliberately suppressed
For the centuries, our voices remain unheard,
Like a weeping fish at the sea,
We are treated zombies at the rush of a blood,
Collecting by hand, the human society’s poops & pea
Things for us got intensely worse,
We work as a group with an isolated curse,
For our livelihood, go into manholes as bare-bodies
Mostly get out as dead-bodies
From pathology to oncology,
We are treated untouchables, even by the modern technology
We are the oxygen-offering trees that remain green
Hurting ourselves, collecting excreta making this world neat &clean
With our hand-cuffs we shout and fight,
Rulers remain drunken-deafs to our plight,
Hell with your knowledge, to those who go to college
And keep pushing us to the drainage,
We remain living dead and frustrated, to get our right
When asked about work, we remain dumb and blind,
Fearing the responses to our ***** revelations,
Because humans are unemphathetic and unkind
To get our life some elevations.
Our mind said us “Please think! Please Think!”
When we revolt not to work, societies stink,
We warn, Witness your locality *****
To our sufferings, if you keep blank & empty.
We are a collective voice,
Representing inhuman humanity,
That keeps the society on a poise,
So raise your voice, with a clarity of choice
To get us work with the utmost dignity!
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
Inside the drainage basin
Bounding my soul
Fluid dynamics
Condense
Phases of water
Gather in the
Mountain towers
Over time
Gravity plus precipitation
Converts
Into snow pack
Come spring
That snow pack
Braids it's way down the mountain
Co-mingling with groundwater
Bubbling up in springs
Gathering momentum
In mountain streams
A constant conversion from
Potential to kinematic
Energy
Streams make their
Way into prairie rivers
Meandering along
Through riparian pockets
Of biodiversity
Reaching a levee
Then breaching
Local, national, and international boundaries
Are no match
As my soul
Finds it's way to base level
In the ocean of your love
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
They said there was a drought water was short
not enough for domestic use.
At first declaring it was nobody's fault
it had not rained for a long time!
Committing an offence by using a hose pipe
truthfully was a load of tripe.
Water companies are making a financial killing
everyone encouraged not to waste water.
More fancy gadgets the public would be willing
to buy water use multiplied.
As the buzz was building more on any land
telling us there was a demand!
Thousands of houses built was there a big need
statistics only the government held.
Groups tried protesting for it not to proceed
but fields were still built on.
Heavy rains came with more depleted drainage
so did the despair and rage.
A state of increasing taxes with nothing to show
more became classed as poor.
Communication with voters becoming very slow
the authorities had a strangle hold!
As the ban on a non existent drought dragged on
more doubters joined the throng!
Was there a danger of a growing national threat
from people against the elite.
Basking in luxury as the masses increasing in debt
the drought added more fuel.
Restrictions taking away their dignity it turned sour
there would be a defining hour.
Or is this just a modern nightmare tale?
The Foureyed Poet.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”
Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.
Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”
Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the cock-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.
Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******** the ball-cock
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?
If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).
I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.
It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.
With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?
So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?
Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****
With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
The patient has had no nausea,
vomiting or back pain. No chills,
fatigue, fever, decreased vision
or double vision. No ear drainage
or hearing loss, epistaxis or
runny nose. No sore throat, calf
pain, chest pain, cough or difficulty
breathing. No pedal edema,
palpitations, black stools, ******
stools or constipation. No diarrhea,
urinary frequency, laceration, skin
rash or depression. No dizziness,
headache, head injury, weakness
or enlarged lymph nodes. All
systems negative
and yet
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail
My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely
In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin
Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?
When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
I am a rain drop flopped down from the clouds
I could have landed in a river or the sea
Then merging with the rising and receding waves
I would have been washed down into oblivion
Or could have fallen from the heights
Into a desolate dreary desert
Amid the blistering granules of sand
To be absorbed into nothingness
Chances are there to have fallen on a rock
Lying scorched in the heat of the mid day sun
Then I would have vanished into thin air
Evaporating into non existence
I could have fallen into a muddy puddle
Or perhaps into a filthy drainage
To be contaminated with the sewage
Or be the breeding ground of worms and bugs
But fortunately for me
I happened to fall into fecund soil
Where there lay in wait a few seeds
Hankering for the cool touch of moisture
Arid souls desperately thirsting for water,
They ****** the molecules within me.
As their dry kernel got soaked and puffed,
Slowly they sprouted and grew into life.
Absorbing again the drops that came after me
They, into towering trees eventually grew
Some touching heaven’s azure heights
And giving shade and shelter to many
Now as I see them crested with flowers
And bearing clusters of luscious fruits
I feel I am there in each leaf and bud
And my essence flows through every vein!
As a teacher, what more is needed for me
To feel contented in life?
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
There are no bells, but they are there
lining the streets, palms outstretched
women on their knees between cream-colored petals
of orchids carelessly blooming by the drainage ditch
their scrubbed feet free of rice paddy mud
with palm fronds overhead
in their hands, cut butter and fruit
for the monks that file past in smart orange robes
if you were here, you would watch them with me
you would peel lychee fruits for breakfast
at this hour the people are wide awake
and the day is struggling to keep up
somewhere behind the early clouds
the sun is winking over the trees
morning birds never seem to sing here
where the rain has been falling for days
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:55 AM UTC
Memphis got real high in the 50's.
Those honeycomb bathroom floors decided to become streets
them city kids got the buy bug knocking at their knees.
Problem is: They never dream.
Teachers just learning to write
using pens filled with interrupting ink
telephone poles gossiping about the trees,
they hated their branches—always loosing their leaves
office administrators on Section 8 Housing
while the vacant houses are out on the streets.
People swarming the sewers
forgetting: a bomb shelter is no home
while drainage floods the alleys.
If you could see this place with your own eyes
and not the ones you bought at the drug store
you would wish you were blind.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Did you say laughter is the best medicine?
what is it that's ailing you, that you need this medicine for?
we are concerned with your mental and physical health
laughter is not good unless prescribed and monitored
laughing uncontrollably is a sign of drug abuse
laughing hysterically is a sign of mental disorder
laughing too much can damage joy receptors
joy receptor drainage is #1 cause of sadness, and every other disease
Joyflow is the best medicine to control laughter flow
Joyflow is recommended by all doctors everywhere
*Joyflow may cause side effects including, but not limited to sadness, nausea, sterilization(good), sudden death, heartburn, diabetes, cancer, brain bleeds etc.
We are very concerned with your state of well-being
you are addicted to laughter, and not able to make logical decisions
you are over-weight and under-developed mentally
this police officer is taking you to a place to be evaluated
put your hands behind your back and do not resist
resisting an officer is a crime, and you will have jail time waiting if you pass evaluation
we will also give you something for the crying, called FlowNoMore
we work for you to stop tears and let joy flow the healthy way
Oct 19, 2021
Oct 19, 2021 at 2:27 PM UTC
The doorknob to the closet
full of my skeletons is made of
funny-bone
But there are days
when honesty tugs a little too roughly and
I realize this isn't all that funny now
Is it?
As a writer
You learn presentation is key
In the bend of language
I create this man
I want you to believe me to be
And so I tell you these stories
like they are jokes
Like they are no big deal
Like the first time I got drunk
was with my friend's mom
who was a known child molester
She tried to order us ****
But couldn't work the cable
Or my friends and I used to travel our city
via the water drainage system
Near the mall
We got lost once
and while standing
in ankle high water
we saw at least 20 homeless people
sleeping on pallets
We called that place *** City
We had to get directions back out
There's a possibilty I have been an accessory to ******
Around the time in my life when I learned
How not to dwell
My body was a wishbone
My father meant to break
But every beating
left me the better half
I find so much of it funny
My brother's most recent suicide attempt
My mother's
My father's Alzheimer's
He once chased after our mailman
naked
Asking him about some letter
from some woman
I have never met before
I find laughter
and beauty
in the bend of language
When this chest becomes a broken radiator
and my heart grows cold
The metaphor mutates Campfire
Come here
I am lonely
and I have a story to tell you
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
This wild night, gathering the washing as if it were flowers
animal vines twisting over the line and
slapping my face lightly, soundless merriment
in the gesticulations of shirtsleeves,
I recall out of my joy a night of misery
walking in the dark and the wind over broken earth,
halfmade foundations and unfinished
drainage trenches and the spaced-out
circles of glaring light
marking streets that were to be
walking with you but so far from you,
and now alone in October's
first decision towards winter, so close to you--
my arms full of playful rebellious linen, a freighter
going down-river two blocks away, outward bound,
the green wolf-eyes of the Harborside Terminal
glittering on the Jersey shore,
and a train somewhere under ground bringing you towards me
to our new living-place from which we can see
a river and its traffic (the Hudson and the
hidden river, who can say which it is we see, we see
something of both. Or who can say
the crippled broom-vendor yesterday, who passed
just as we needed a new broom, was not
one of the Hidden Ones?)
Crates of fruit are unloading
across the street on the cobbles,
and a brazier flaring
to warm the men and burn trash. He wished us
luck when we bought the broom. But not luck
brought us here. By design
clean air and cold wind polish
the river lights, by design
we are to live now in a new place.
2.1k
The screeching noise on the pouch
marked with evil twisted eyes
pawns so dark and painful
watching on, phasing on
trying to deliver depressive storms
turns torn with thorns
others taken off from the throne
for his nerves never ever rests
and his mind a clogged drainage
for there is always time to stop
to give it up and let life live
for there is always time to slide
to leave all the burdens on a bridge
for there is always time to grow
to sink in the ever glowing circles
the doves have a disturbing coo
as their coldness distributes
the celestial night gets kidnapped
his footsteps stride in a torment bang
crashing the black box in pieces
punching for a breath as pressure rises
until the dawn brings the sunrise
wiping all the daunting scares
erasing all of the vengeful tears
Celebrating life as it should be
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC
Scribbles on a yellow notepad, this ink won't last
Letting sweat dry from a long walk, half way there
I didn't notice it on my first passing, or my second
Third time is the charm they say, don't they?
Now I sit in this scummy drainage ditch, writing
A tree, growing from a pile of waste concrete
Dumped carelessly by rough, tired, hands
Green leaves adorn it, this oddity, only a sapling
Like a flower on the peak of Mount Everest
Or an ice cube in the middle of the Gobi
This is not so grand, this urban contradiction
Some day it will be as tall as me, maybe taller
Stretching its limbs, eroding its base
Praising sun rays through photosynthesis
Pushing down roots through man made constructions
Reclaiming the soil from which all life springs & returns
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
We take a mains water supply and proper drainage for granted now,
but not so long ago they were new things, and not everybody had them.
My old boss told me about the time they turned up for work at a cottage where a woman lived alone, just in time to see her empty her **** *** out of the bedroom window onto the tiles of the lean-to.
Half way through the morning she asked if they would like a glass of home-made lemonade, and dipped a jug into the water **** saying
" I like to use soft water. "
Having noticed that the lean-to tiles emptied into the water ****
they found themselves in a slightly awkward position.
When the woman appeared proudly offering the full glasses of lemonade,
my old boss said " I think I heard someone at the front door. "
Off she scurried and the lemonade was quickly disposed of in the flower bed.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen.
I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear—
the fog dragging its tongue up the valley.
Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing,
took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went
to go tuck herself
into the tent,
into the safety of ceiling.
But,
you and I
opted to be
coyotes on the hillside.
I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts,
and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur,
howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh,
your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length
‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips
and you, oh you,
you would **** the marrow from my bone.
And when we lay out, raw and steaming
knees bleeding from the drainage ditch,
a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming,
we, peeling off a well-known itch.
Then we play a game with satellites
Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds
And laugh when the reflections never fit.
I gather up my skin, step one foot in and
stumble when the tightness traps my leg,
You pin up your ******* to please our sleeping guests
that wouldn’t take to anything irregular.
On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives
herded on the table of L.A.
A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration;
mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame
Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme
but a million conversations
bleaches each the other white
and now a million electric campfires
bleaches L.A.’s lower sky.
And though I stomped out ours
the ash remains a scar
where we had nearly forgot
how to speak by choosing to not.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:22 AM UTC
3D Printing
Proud owners of 3D Printers !
Makers of 3D Printers !
Designers of 3D Printers !
What you are creating
Does't hold a candle
To Designer-maker-owner
All-in-one models
Created eons ago !!
It is the female of
Every species of mammals !
Bones, flesh, blood
Nerves, memory cells
Power plants to convert
Food to energy !
Control systems to regulate
Regeneration of fresh cells
Filter system to provide
Clean oxygen to
Fuel the Power Plants
With Powerful binoculars
Audio production mechanics
Audio receptors to pass on
Grey cells enclosed in
Secure and hard shell
Strands of fine hairs
To cushion impact and
As thermal insulation
Protection shields for
All sensory units
Efficient drainage system
Propulsion facilities
Guidance and command
Center for all activities!!
Processors working 24/7
Processing gene information
Tweaking and fine tuning
Some info and trashing a few
Data storage many TB more
Than many data centers could
Offer with minimum
Upkeep and maintenance
Self-Encryption capabilities
And above all the ability
To produce both male and
Female of their species
All from getting just
One ***** and
ultimately infusion
of LIFE
Into the product as casual
As our breathing.
Do we know the creator?
Different Religions have
Different Names for it
But all the same it is
THE ONLY ONE
That counts :-)
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
I stirred from a dream-dazed, I saw flashbacks of a knotted
silver gleam. From it a figure bent forward. Here, at last alone in the dark the knight
or stable boy
or creature
took his lover's hand and instead of pressing each fingerprint between his palms
and reciting how he couldn't breathe in her absence
he snatched a dictionary from the nearby shelf and began delivering
words beginning incidentally with the letter H. Over and over again
until he almost fled from the room in Hopelessness.
she was the Hazel in his brewing coffee; the Halo of his prayers
Hideous leaked from the page and he Hiccuped. Reminded suddenly of her behavior
silent, sleepless nights came forth and smothered his speech. Anger rose and each
private grief was spit into the crease of her hairline.
it oozed into the tears between her eyes, splashed onto her sweaty, reaching arms.
drenched, choking in fever, she waited until it settled between the ridge of both ears.
they said nothing
he couldn't look at her-
she couldn't stop staring
after a couple minutes he walked away and
she fell like raindrops into the pinched, center drain
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
Behind the youth room, sitting on the pavement, I think of past times.
I sit quietly and submerse my mind in the memories…
And I wonder, if I leave, will I ever come back and do this again? Feel the sweet nostalgia?
Will I tell my kids about these memories?
Will I tell them about the ones that haunt me as well? The ones I wish I could forget?
I think I will. I wish my parents had emphasized on the horrific things those memories do to you.
Weeds overrun Ashleigh’s and my old meeting place.
Our drainage grate where we told secrets have been overtaken by bushes.
“My chest hurts a lot today.” “And when I look back, I see you waving”
-Grizzly Bear, Fix it
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Drip, drip, drip
one after the other, the build up
no sewage system in which to leak
mind becomes a cess pool
am I so bad, trifle yes
to bring down such wrath in the raindrops
drip, drip, drip
overwhelming
more depth for a fractured mind
sobs seek the drainage pipes
seep into the darkness
no tunnels here to catch the incoming flood
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
One could might hypothesize
That the tears would have
Drained more than
The veins drawing out
Of the confines of the muscle
Pumping sweltering anger
On such a transportation
Of creating a new home
Out of one recognized for three years.
The stacks upon stacks
Of emotional drainage
After the physical had worn out
From problem after inconvenience
After incompetency.
A departure I wrote an outline for
Before I stood at the border
Of goodbyes,
I quickly threw out.
The itch and discomfort,
The aching and drainage
The constant questions in my mind
Throughout the entire time
Divorced me from the clouds
That I foresaw above us
Hugging goodbyes.
The storm was in the lies
That made me hurt
To see such discomfort in your eyes.
Here’s to the storm’s dispersion,
No good deed can split the coming tidal wave.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 7:34 PM UTC
Quite a draining journey
traveling through this drainage tunnel
groping my way through the disorienting darkness
arms of lifelessness reach out from the walls
constantly tugging at my shirt
it's my health that they hurt
when I try to run
they grab and stun
forcing me to buy movement
at the price of energy
they hold tokens in their hands
inscribed with the drainage brand
like the hair from the drain in my sink
or the phlegm drained from my sinuses
I wade through the **** of stomach minuses
moving through a drainage tunnel death funnel
aches develop in my feet
as well as my back
I can't handle the heat
or how the inside is black
I start walking slower and slower
as the ceiling gets lower and lower
the backbreaking pressure
makes my height lesser
so I crawl through the filth
of all this drainage I built
the hands that hold me down
are now my only company
their frustrating grabbing
now feels like a lulling caress
coaxing me to stay in this tunnel
all other voices are muddled
because of the drainage in my ear
blocking communication with fear
a wall of wax
that won't collapse
creates an axe
to cut off my head
from suffering dread
wondering when this tunnel will end
because there's no light to be found
in this tunnel I crawl down
gagged and bound
from the hands all around
grabbing at my brain
to push it down the drain.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
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even if they never darken your graveyard again, you'll be in-the-know and
never miss another important moment again, because we know how precious
those moments are when you're coffin-bound drainage issues? no more sweating
it, zippy ground pumping service has the hose size that's just right, inserted
quickly into the liner monthly to ensure all that yucky-mucky gets pumped away,
leaving you high and dry and you'll see that life and death only get easier with zippy,
yes that's ZIPPY, dial your local code + zippy and experience instant relief today
no matter what the problem don't worry, just call zippy and be happy;
wonderful feeling, wonderful day!..
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 9:39 AM UTC