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William Reyer Mar 2014
Have you forgotten the way to my hut?
Every evening I wait for the sound of your footsteps,
But you do not appear.

                                        Ryokan from One Robe, One Bowl
                                        (trans. John Stevens)

I

Today I pulled up winter-bleached ribbon-grass
to ready the garden for Spring.
Its fraying, filmy whiteness
calls to mind
the cloud-like gray of your hair
floating in mountain breezes
as you watch the crescent-moon
move among ancient pines.

II

Your hut is many ages away!
Your moon still casts her peaceful shadows. . .
These afternoon frailties of grass will fade
like the incense rising
out of your hermitage window.

III

I do recall the way to Gogo-an!
Your hut is reached by treading deeper and deeper
into the heart's valley—
carrying a handful of ghost-colored grasses
and an empty rice-bowl.
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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
.whiskey on ice is hardly a profanity,
even if it is an orthodox scotch...
              who in their right
mind would sip amber?
  neck on the guillotine...
   but please: no lukewarm profanity
in what looks like a chip off
a chandelier...

                a minute's delay on
the ice and...
                neck on the guillotine...
so many stars! and the moon!
and: a sight of Antoinnete's lingerie!

******* it!
   who the hell sips sweaty-hands
whiskey?
                       whiskey on ice...
to take the bite off...
     esp. that -esque of Laphroaig;
takes the edge:
            but doesn't blunt the slice...
no profanity around here...
     lukewarm tea is bad:
but room-temp. whiskey is:
   this is not a game of
                 hare & hound
   with a chaser of beer to follow...

no... don't drink ***** in
England...
             whiskey on ice isn't
a profanity:
   there's no room for sipping
it: expecting what
becomes a kiss from a she-devil...
neck on the guillotine...


mind you...
   didn't some drunk once say:
FOMO no GOGO?
no... i'm pretty sure he said
something along the lines:
don't to it for the money,
and certainly don't do it
expecting to bed women
like a gladiator...
                              (on writing)...

that was in the 20th century...
imagine:
   that caravan on the beatnik
poets...
                         like
cabaret voltaire:
  but with more momentum
and... well...
    not diffused
   by the 4 official languages
of Switzerland...

that was the 20th century...
  hey... looks like i'm
  both qua pseudo &
                   circa -esque
   of Virgil:
                   and in the 21st
century i'd say:
   don't do it for Pavlov...
don't do it for the numbers...
don't do it for...
             whatever this
is, but isn't another person
and isn't your private
eyes communicating
to another pair of
private eyes...

               just today i discovered
medium.com...
     'become a member now for $5/month
to read this story and get unlimited access
to all of the best stories on Medium'...

but i also discovered
the builders and the butchers,
song, bringin' home
the rain
(7 545 192 views)...

and...
        that means what?
   the song was published on...
the 13th of Feb. 2013!
   what's 6 years late to 8 million views?
        
fun logo from the 1980s
on a vinyl record,
ozzy osbourne's bark at the moon:
cassette and bones:

             HOME TAPING IS
             KILLING MUSIC...

don't know about you:
but like a Nick Hornby novel
i remember making
a mix tape for a former girlfriend...
she said to me...

'you know, i was walking
down Oxford St. at 6am to work
at the Marks & Spencers
listening to your mix CD
and King Crimson's
Epitaph came on...
          and... the streets were
deserted...'
                           NON-VERBATIM...

but i remember that
pirated music back then for
a higher purpose...
we didn't stash it in MPʒ
    banks...

                     it was: flirting...
or whatever the case for
the cult of high fidelity
is about...

                 so why would i go
back to ol' papa vinyl?
the thing's ******* hypnotic...
and look, a magic trick:
no headphones...

                     plus a 2in1:
a vinyl & a frisbee...
     problem being:
   cats don't play frisbee...
****...
                  rather...
the art of the return...
to the concept of an album...
which isn't the same
as a concept album
(from the prog. rock days)...

               i can just imagine
one torture technique...
not with children
and sweets...

   i mean... adults...
or nearing adulthood children...
a psychology experiment:
not yet done...

   a gramaphone,
a vinyl...
   a mundane album...
and... one stand-out track...
not children and sweats
and delayed gratification...
what delayed gratification?
there's only one stand-out
track on the vinyl...
oh... you mean to get
a single version
of the vinyl?

                 drone strike:
repeat repeat...
     it's like:
they started calling it acid
jazz...
  how about:
     ACID POP...
the song just erodes
the brain like
  a highschool
algebra rubric or
a choreography (misnomer
& metaphor)
    of historical dates
to state: us, unison, today,
and some we
     and some them.
Edmund black Jun 2023
Go
       Go
              Go.                      Go
       Go
              Go
              Go
       Go
              Go
                     Go.              Go
       Go
              Go
       Go
              Go
                           Go.           Go
       Go
              Go.              Go
       Go
              Go.                  Go
       Go
              Go
       Go
              Go.               Go
       Go
              Go
                         Go
       Go
              Go
                        
          Go wherever love calls you.
A mournful wail
But brain makes her a whisper
Your heart, somewhere, feels a distance
As they khuluma
And you can’t
Yet they praat
And you caught a bietjie
Not like your people and not accept by white people.
Poetic T May 2015
They would hold their  hands up
High in search of golden nuggets,
Their dummies held up to the sky.

The map showing them where X did
Mark a spot, they crawled on their  
Merry way, through sand they did
Crawl, slowly never would they stop.

They didn't want it in a skull *****,
X marked the brown pongy spot. A
Bottom full of sand would slow a
Pirate baby down, making them
Uncomfortable  crying as their treasure
Unreached they would have had to stop.

They crawled under fallen trees, through
Shrub and looked up, and saw the branches
Reaching for the sky. They were nearly
There they had crawled for 20 feet and
Stopped twice for nap times, as it was
Far away in baby steps not like big foot.

They had reached there goal with dummies
In hand, many dangers faced but together
As a crew they got to the treasured land.

X was their goal and it did mark a spot,
Where the golden nuggets shined in that
Spot. Where the rusks had that golden tint,
And that yummy taste as they went down
With a bottle Of hot milk in hand that really
Hit that nap time spot.

Dummies held up high they had reached that
Promised land, where treasure was eaten an
Then nap time was coming close to hand, gogo
And goodnight.
Henry Brooke Jun 2016
I met a girl I may not meet
I love this girl I cannot touch
I love this girl who lives far away
beyond reasonable doubt
we cant ever say
when it will ever start.
It's getting too close
its like I'm in love with a ghost.
She in a life but
not the one I wish to live.
100 times a think of this
and still we kiss we kiss we kiss.
I'm afraid I'm worshipping a mark
that I will never be able to rub off
I want to be honest and tell her
I want her,
And I'm lost because I can't,
I talked to her because I was lonely,
now I'm lonely because I want more.
That's a little bit my fault.

I told her everything,
except when I cheated on her
from across the sea,
because I gotta get it.
I can't help it.
And it kills me to know she prob does the same.

In tonight's dream we met again
but she was with another man
and all I wanted was to leave
this world of dreams and seal
this deal.

So I'm getting too close to a cold sun.
I let myself do this,
here's to you Vic:

Let's be honest,
Let's share life,
Let's be crazy,
Let's be fast,
Let's be slow,
Let's be forever,
Let's be a show,
Let's be the ground,
Let's be the nothing,
Let's be hole,
Let's be the stuffing,
Let's be a team,
Let's be together,
Let's be supportive,
In any weather.
Let's be happy,
we found each other,

Don't cry because it's mortal,
Smile because it had the luck to be.

Let's be the dirt,
Let's be ****,
Let's be a thousand
more days of luck.
Let's be Juillet and Roméo,
Let's be two strangers in the know,
Let's be an ******,
Let's be my dream,
Let's be The light
that can't be seen,
Let's be that thing
you never touch
Let's be the Light that can't be seen
but that you see,
Let's be that thing you can never touch
but that you touch,
Let's be a walkie talkie,
Let's be one,
Let's be a story,
Let's be sung,
Let's be boring,
Let's be numb,
Let's be worried,
Let's be hung,
Let's be something,
Let's be almost nothing
but still something,
(where already that)
Let's be Sumner,
Let's be winter,
Let's be all ages together,
Let's be lucid,
Let's be wise,
Let's be my sister just came back home really sad from failing her exam and It sort of bring me back from reality. One where you have to sign bills and dreams break in pieces. So now I have to get back in the mood of writing this without failing the general idea. I just reread the whole thing and it seems stupid.
Let's be synchronised,
Let's be doubtful,
Let's be sad,
Let's be mad,
Let's be alive,
Let's have a dream
I'm just realising the only reason I'm feeling good is that I have a dream you.
Let's break the boredom,
Let's melt the chains
and make our own
Let's build
Let's break,
Let's gjxzl
djzksls
cjxjs
coco
eosoc
ekdks
cjciwl
vj jzpa
gogo
vic
About that same girl,
This is how what I want it to be
Robin Carretti May 2018
All-Ziggy in--- one
He's the dockers
Let's zoom in clickers- - -
The computer meets
Mr. hackers
Deleted all my cookie's
All we need is love and crackers
Am I bookedslightly jammed jar?
Just like Romeo huh? love-scarred?
So hurried ((Agatha Christie))

Overwhelmed worded
Overboard been thrown
Inside her mystery
drunks of the
Dynasty

Lippy all snappy
G-Q this isn't a
book quiz

I Quit Hippety-Dippetty
Hungry Hippos
Hop(scotch) drinkers
Queen hoarder of junk
ZZZZ Tiara with *****

Zillions got jealous
Charlie of the sea
tuna fish clunky
Where is the Pasta
So Sticky (Seashells),
Bowie bow-ties Z
Ziti
Man of La Mancha
Like a muzzle puzzle
Mr. Mancini
Ronzoni
Meet musical genius
Bowie
**

((Ziggy Stardust Wish)

Ziggy zero 000-000

The zoo-keeper Mr. Bentley
So zealous fast food
jealous and devious
Mistress of the
Agatha got tedious
Jean Jeanie magician

Music notes and
  Stripey stars Bass
Her speakeasy pass

((Breakfast at Tiffany)).....**
The Auditor of the
Audry Zig Zag
Putting on the ritz
Hip Hop Hepburn
Zigziggary
book narrowminded
Zachery? Broad-sworded
Ziggy Star Dust
David Bowie talent to trust
The ground
control
___
**
to Major Tummy Zonky
And Slinky got stepped on
Over her ring pinky

Zionist Benny and the Jets
Elton John pianist hits

Zoonotic Gin and tonic
zigzag Zebra
style purse
Where are her show
Polish up my poodles
The restaurant was cursed
Zagat rating
leash she went out
*
hypnotic ZZzzzz's
Queen buZzzzz Twiggy
Fame whose to
blame
Zoe her macaroni
Twist and snout Grill

Cherry blossom
Shiba Uni
Was her best thrill
his zig-zag tongue
Ziggy playing rugby
She was stretched

((Ziggy Book like Gumby))

Zonked spaced out
the Zonka truck
Phantom
Theatre Dig her Dorothy
red slippers

Ziggy Stardust
Disney Pixar Flippers
Totally Rad Toto
Zoe met Joey GoGo
Felt like Chop Suey
Agatha high drama
African Queen Jungle
Dr. Suess bald eagle boss
No ******* to twinkle
The bad day of
tendinitis
The ringing cheering ear

Martha my dear
Never beat Beatles
Jim Carey hell of a
sleigh rideTinnitus

At the Marilyn
Millionaire bar-hop
bus stop wiggles
Some snags fishnets
  Trump it up
everyone shut up_$$$
The *******
_

Zillion Price tags
on the plane
The Easter basket
Just Sunny she's over easy
eggs ramble

Ziggy Scandals
Odd-couple Oscar
Trumpets Tony Randal
Zip of the lip
Miss fuss ***
She needs her
diapers

Beach Boys Truffles
Sherry baby got poison
mushrooms
The bed end
__
(All Z) initial bookmarker
The end of her sleepwear
Her backpack bad crow
eye pack
and zigzagged---///---
Ozzy Oz land
Arrowsmith dead-on
nailed it, witch
A to Zzzz's H Harrods
Her London's hair
The rock (Fritz) That's
Showeyyy biz
Cleopatra
He's the Mantra zestier
Zoological Mixed greens
Ziggy zig-zag salad

All wormy Planet
Humming and rhyming
Wiggly but not ugly
_>>>
here's to all of
you Ziggy Huggy
Ziggy Stardust Bowie is the genius I saw him in concert but this is about a funny side to comedy Robins flight stay awake because of the ZZzzzz are coming
Yenson May 2019
Oh..boy, O'Malley hit that ball right outta the park
the crowd hollered and wooped, my bet has made good
I've got lolly in my pocket and jolly on my mind, I scrammed
moseyed down to Fat Albert, had a whiskey and sour, things dandy
so as the sun set I walked down the block and hit Green-a-gogo
the jazz notes were jumping, those cats sure know howta swing
at the bar I called in a tall dry Martini on the rocks, lit a cheroot

Ah, this is a breeze, ain't I just got the freeze with them lollies cooling
She came out of nowhere, looks like Rita Hayworth, sashayed like her
red lips pouting, hips rolling and legs she borrowed from Marilyn
that's Monroe, if you needa ask, she smelt like heaven in springtime
Howdy handsome, she purred, have you been waiting for me
Nope I said,  just landed five minutes ago, what's your poison, honey
make it a highball, easy on the rye, ain't got my guard with me now

this babe was a looker, she's already got me in a choker, my oh my
what brings you down this way, she purred as she took a slug
to find you, I said, cool as a cucumber from Lebowitz Deli downtown
well you're in luck, she said, I am found, she said again
I inhaled slowly and blew cheroot smog away from ole brown eyes
I have two thousand bucks burning a hole in my pocket
I still had my senses too

Hey babe, I said smiling, this ain't no shakedown is it, honey
she smiled and shook those dark tresses, do I look like a moll, she ask
I tell you this honey,.............I’m a dark chocolate lover,
Never had the buzz with the white stuff
so don’t be offended or think me mean, when I say,
I have no interest in the white chocolate,
I prefer them to have no jacket on too
if don’t have a jacket you will know exactly what i’m referring to  

I smiled and winked at her, lets put it this way, I said
I am black as you can see, but a Rabbi visited when I was born
so the Rabbi took your jacket away, she offered, did you a favor
we both laughed, danced, chatted and as we left. I asked
Do you just waltz into bars and pick up men, just like this
She stopped, looked me in the eyes  and said
You're from Royal Spokane Avenue in Philly, aren't you
I nodded, surprised
You're a lawyer, you're divorced and you're a **** gentle man
my friend told me all about you, now lets go swimming with dolphins..............
Tu meurs d'envie de moi
Et tu me dis tout de go
J'ai envie de toi

Maintenant
Bande
Bande
Bande
Et tu chronomètres le temps
Qu'il me faudra pour atteindre
La taille exacte que tu désires
Et quand le petit soldat s'exécute
Au quart de tour comme tu l'exiges
Quand il pointe l'arme vers tes neiges éternelles
Tu dis : Garde à vous, fixe
Tu condamnes mes fesses au peloton d'exécution
Au clic de ton appareil photo
Tu tires à vue
Tu mitrailles à bout portant
Et quand tu es enfin satisfaite de la pose
Tu dis :
Déposez arme
Et je me dégonfle
Instantanément

Et tu exaltes, tu jubiles
De ta toute puissance
Je suis ta chose, ton pantin
Ton esclave
Tu es ma maîtresse
Et tu me flagelles à distance de ton flash.

Et tu exiges des photos explicites
Des gros plans, des détails intimes
De mes parties honteuses
Tu veux la vulve qui dort paisiblement sous mon aisselle
Tu veux la raie du cul qui se dessine dans le creux de mon coude

Tu veux la trique qui ronfle
Au coeur de la mangrove du mont de Venus

Tu veux le trou de mon cul dans le nombril béant
Que je forme de mes plantes de pied jointes
Tu veux que mon sein gauche secrète
A gogo des tasse de café chaud arabica

Tu veux tout
Tout de suite
Le tout et les parties
Sans filtre
Sans retouches

Tu dis que mains et mes doigts t'excitent
Et tu suces mes ongles pour en soutirer
Les envies et les cuticules

Et tu mordilles mes orteils
Lentement l'un après l'autre
Tu croques
Histoire de voir si je suis chatouilleux
Ou si je ne suis pas déjà mort

Et tu veux que je me batte en douce
Comme on bat la campagne
Comme on bat un cil et les cartes
Comme on bat le fer quand il est chaud
Comme on bat le grain pour le moudre
Comme on bat sa coulpe
Comme on bat la mesure
Et comme on bat son coeur
Je me bats en douce
Je te baptises de mon foutre
Je te fais des messes basses
Et je fais main basse sur tes envies
A voix basse
Je m'exécute
Je t'exécute
Car tu reignes vierge souveraine,
En sourdine, Osmose et Extase,
Dans mon royaume tantrique.
Kevin May 2017
Dress me up Im all about glamour.
Take these nuts and bust them with a hammer.
Time to go to the bathroom and powder my nose.
Fixing my skirt and fishnet pantyhose.
I don't want to be me, I want to be a girl.
Skinny I need to be, belimac watch me hurl.
God I love this **** silky bra.
In everyones eyes a man they saw.
But underneath the clothes and skin.
Waits a happy little girl waiting to begin.
Her happy little life in gogo boots and mini skirts.
I think about the **** sl*t in me and it hurts.
No money for an operation, so I'll just cut it off.
No more turn your head and cough.
One day by all I will be seen.
As the inner me transforms into a beauty queen
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
there are only two options...
******* into the wind...
or... pouring gasoline on the fire...

but there's always that third
avenue of "substance":
once the overrated demand
to speak freely -
when... thinking could be...
in the winding
crude pivot of...

       what was it that "we" were
trying to achieve...
ah...
writing is not speaking...
writing is an extension
of thinking...

    outside of the comment
section...
freedom of speech: retracted...
i must prefer the patience
of a spider...

the circus is over:
time to eat enough matter
to have one's teeth agitated:
to watch the toothpicks march
on mensa!

         come now... come...
the clowns are crying in the street...
it's just no fun...
to have no alternative narrative
to work with...

              a thing onto itself...
the advent of all these workaholic
slogans...
i will: as i have...
spend 2 hours pretending to sleep
on the floor...
trying vanity...
and how claustrophobia works...
when...

          the sunset has become
suffocating... the sunrise has no horizon...
and the old fable...
  of the moon's litany of lies...
seeking a skull about to melt
into... a lake of mercury...

          i want to shut up...
i want all my fingers to be broken...
i want to read braille with my elbows
and the tip of my nose...

         but i don't want that...
when... poetryfoundation.org...
has nothing new to post...
beside... an open letter of commitment
to our community...
well... the **** is way past
stinking... it's drying up...
it's becoming brick adequate...
one could confuse it with
a horse-**** shoe...

                   i hear a gallop of four horses...
but no... i want that to be the sound
of a train 5 miles away...
but "something" is sinking...
and what i hear is...
     the rattling nuance...
of a million rats fusing into several
centipedes...
scuttling... burning bridges as they
come... and go...

there are no details of my involvement
in any of this...
there simply isn't a question
to pose...

         not out of cowardice...
for once it would be good to know...
what all this hullaboo pertains to:
being asked...
when - the exhausted pronoun >?<
    wanders onto the stage...

       and there really isn't a worth
of question to be asked...

    i.e. ? walks before the mirror...
strips ****-naked...
             ? |  !         yes...
and an exclamation mark is all
that's arrived at...

the clown-world meme isn't funny
anymore... no one is juggling
reverse-psychology tactics...
i.e. laughing = crying
       and crying = laughing...

i forgot to put... the preservastion
of nuance as: what's to primarily
survive this... **** of self-righteous
gloating...
                
two names come to mind...
                  muammar al-gadaffi...
and... who ever said...
that... saddam hussein would
be... anything but...
that saudi king on his magic
carpet ride over yemen...
                  
   ill-fitting glove...
never the ill-fitted hand...
                                 always the...
prenup - juggling words...
prenup: hullabaloo...
               thai squid loot of the depths...
that ottoman slave trader
of the janissary corp...
    
i once had a soul...
i once had a mind...
          i probably still have...
the verb antics of the exclusivity of
a body...
it's not like the mind had
telekinetic capacities...
     schizoid telepathy... good riddle
for the metaphor junction:
ausfahrt...
                       mr. n'gogo...
                 and some mistress of:
m'lakak'eh-goopt'ah...
               for the first time...
i started to imagine speaking
without the use of their nasal cavity...

past-oral:
              vs. "pastral"
                         i guess there's a big O "missing"...
concerning... it's written pastoral...
it is said: pastral...
       "apparently"
                  equal to... the choir...
and... that one "idiot" attempting
to not sing...

               one junction i know of...
esp. with weißbier: franцiskaner: weißbier...
beer... liquid bread...
and ol' michael schumacher...
"living" as a cucumber since...
2013...
                 that's of worthy note...
   "living" as a cucumber...
ever since... slam-dunking head-first
like a lucifer / icarus while skiing...
                         against sisyphus' stone...

any limbo-land beside this...
mad-max fury road and let's...
keep the cufflings...
give me the sober rules...
and i'll just work my way around
them drunk: as any sanity prone
clown might...

  not this... but... apparently...
all this... and necessarily: now...
the cat never borrows the moon
for a smile...
but indeed... death...
will borrow the sickle.... and when
the sickle isn't enough:
the scythe...
             reworking of the flag...
the hammer and the nail...
who's to be the hammer...
and who's to be the nail?

                       petitions open: now -
our new "flag":
whatever we arrived at...
when burning it... some time ago...
1970s Tehran best.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
that, in a nutshell,

the debaters think my brain does not contain me,

they assume ai ai ai am imagined by a non verbal brain,

with no reason, come on,
really,
they have degrees in chosen fields that prove fate.

Sci used right, they think the comptroller in my gut,
has no means of intending to empower me

with whatever I feed it, to the best of my ability,

gigo. gogo got it fectul effing affection, love it. So simple.

sponsor my responsibility with a moral from a story

choose the good, flush the evil. Flushing being a process

our bodies seem to know how to perform.

exercise in godliness,
imagine you are the good god who holds evil knowns

in idle never functional states for steering out of bumps,

moguls, ah, I know how this works,

--- stuka's siren, fear, fear fear death, fear destruction

Not here.
--- the sound, we can hear it if we ever heard it,
--- remember the sirens in Anne Frank's diary?

--- wah waah wah waah wah waah

linkup:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2864102/on-the-battle-field-after-all/

been and done, son. This
current situation has been history, scientifically, for

a while, cosmostication time wise, which does this trick,
stretch truth so thin,

you can begin to make something,

out of next. Cool, right? Good genug for governin' werxs?

Leave us went, the future is bright and, we have a sunset scheduled
in Pine Valley.
These are un-mazingly enter taining times
Aric Wheeler Oct 2014
The walk home is different every time. It starts with a curt revaluation of my life and as I am piecing my stupidity together, I see a stuffed Burt and Ernie reminding me what I did. Then comes the trip across the hall to the elevator and then down the elevator and then the fight with the first door and when I open that door a guy is there asking about the building and the residents and I don't understand why in the world he would think I live here, or why I would be leaving my apartment in gogo shorts, boots, a t shirt and a raincoat. Then again, maybe the Spanish are less presumptuous. From there I fight to find the second buzzer to let me out of the second door and hope that I turn the right way because I took a cab here and how in the world am I supposed to remember where we turned? Then the real trek home begins because if by some miracle I have conquered Bert, Ernie, the buzzers, the man asking about the building and still managed not to throw myself onto a knife, I have successfully qualified for the pole position. Time to put it in first gear and walk through the streets filled with children eating gelato and their parents and their grandparents all wholesome and fresh faced. Lining cobble stone sidewalks that they manage to wash every night are the hoards of sour orange trees, still green in late October. These are the oranges that all the stupid Americans think would be so delicious and spoiler alert they aren't. As I cross the street I see the river, and I want so badly to jump in, to pull a Virginia Woolf and put myself out of my misery. Crossing the bridge makes it even worse because by this time I have put on my sunglasses and started smoking a cigarette which I hope makes me look more Spanish because everyone smokes and maybe if I am smoking I won't stick out for the guilt all over my face. Now I am close, now is the moment when I start praying that the elevator will be waiting for me on the bottom floor because my knee hurts from slipping in the street the week before. Slipping the key into the keyhole I twist the cogs and open the door to my flat where there are a number of people sitting around eating brunch. Buenos dias, because if I don't say that they will think I am rude which is really the last thing I need. From there, I go into my shared room and lay down, realizing I forgot to ask:
Does this coke come in diet?

— The End —