"hundredweight" poems
He thwack no metronome to kick oneself
Thwack his **** sucker
With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber
Me and my Dalek doped
And my excrement unsweetened
Copulate in the open without my jockstrap
You shat encrusted to what you deflowered
So at arm’s length ****** from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye
And I bounce a bedevilled backwash
My incredibles are shafted
I’ll **** **** to Arab
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
I **** **** to myself
I ****** you powerfully
The body beautiful’s not enough to go round
You enjoy spanking and I wallow in *********
And ***** is like a tobacco teabag
And I’m a bijou **** coming the corsets in custody
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab
I **** **** to…
I **** **** to…
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** **** to her
And I **** **** to Arab
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
the pall of a long day
in sheer white burden
lay inexplicably all
deaths unrehearsed
gargantuan immovable and relentless
like the wide wind cutting through
the blink of an eyelid
or a mortal's fragmented word -hands fret for amalgams
of all brokenness cupped to
the size of all that is loved
in hundredweight
casting their heaviness
upon all of us, pinning us down -
mildew to grass as the hours
draw emphases
(displaced
stilled, looking
outside the
window.)
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
Dragging my sorry looking *** into another sorry looking day
and some say,
a day is what you make of it,
Sheeit.
This way of life is only good for termites and moles, to build or burrow
I furrow my brows in thought
ideas that come to nought,
but I ain't
'bought the farm'
yet.
It's only when you're looked for
how lost you know you've become.
mostly it's a good thing
and sometimes it is not
Life
brings to me
a promise of security
that's
got to be worth a lot.
I'm still dragging my heels
a hundredweight of lead
on my shoulders
( not from the church roof )
and
as God is my witness
that's the Gods honest truth.
Work
is the **** or the cure me
and I'm sure
that she would agree.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC