"insured" poems
*** stick #1 says positive
#2 from the dollar stores says negative
but #3 from the grocery said positive
and #4 from the general was inconclusive
the #5 from ER was intrusive
#6 from the gas station didn't work
#7 from the immediate care center hurt
so the clinic tells me they don't know for sure
and ultrasounds aren't yet insured
I guess I can wait
If it isn't too late
I feel my belly
guess I'll see when I show
But here comes the blood
it just never will grow
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Compliment to the honest
When others question your common sense.
Compliment to the parents.
Who taught you right from wrong?
When you put to the test of will and choice.
Just to remember to make the correct decision.
Even if you done nothing wrong.
If the armor truck door open and bags of money falls out.
And you honestly turn in back in.
Compliment to the honesty of being just you.
Friends will question, what were you thinking?
That it's insured by the bank,
Compliment for putting yourself in their place.
Cause the best sign of truth starts with you.
Things you hope your child will adapt too.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Dress up days
FOR KIDS
I don't mean the times
They dressed up for Church
Or for special holidays
But the times they found
A long dress in their moms closet,
And their moms high heel shoes
Oh and the hats they found
In a hat box in the closet.
Please mom, please....
They were in seventh Heaven...
And the special box
In a best friends basement,
Filled with formals
And a box of high heels.
That insured them a great
Play day...
I grew up in
Dress up days
My girls grew up in
Dress up days
But this day and age
It seems there are
Dress up days
Filled with Princesses
Bought at Target
Or on Amazon.
Stealing the creative ability of a child.
They are expensive, beautiful
And they sparkle
I'm sure the little girls
Probably get more excited
Over Princess dresses
That sparkle
Then the ones that hang
Over their shoulders
And drag on the ground.
Either way, they can still
Have fun while singing
"I'm so fancy"
By Judy
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 5:52 AM UTC
When the emergency room
is at maximum occupancy,
the nurses will lay down
their clipboards and utensils,
clear their throats, and ask for
women and children
to approach the desk first.
To ensure proper care,
forms still must be completed promptly,
and as patiently as possible for the
patient to be processed.
There's the occasional backwards R.
But all is acceptable with a
signature by the X.
Adrenaline coursing
through veins may perhaps lead
the cause of instability,
some instances coarse skin.
A child with the heart of a lion,
shell of a turtle, will always overcome;
rest assured, an insured child,
prints their name with the
unmistakable yet
innocent backwards R still
knows that words are as powerful
as excruciating pain.
Sticks and stones and words alone
have been known to break through bone.
With the twitch of a finger
even Danny Torrance made
the word "Redrum" seem
like a word to reflect on,
if not only a feeling
of constant déjà vu.
Intensive care is a surgeon
not leaving a wristwatch
inside of a patient,
if not a cadaver
whose time ran out.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
We all serve someone in our capacity of life.
We just must be willing.
We all gather some type of benefits in life.
We jut must be willing to admit it.
I work for God Incorporated.
In other words.
I'm employee of God.
And this his service.
I have been insured in mutiple ways.
Don't have to admit how?
Don't even have to say.
In spreading his product.
Whether it's the word.
Or his love.
I have promoted his goal.
As God's employee.
He accepts request.
And He supplies many needs.
And I personally can testify.
He don't get offended being called a charity.
Altho' He does get heated at things he see.
Still, I rather stay employed in his company.
No strikes is allowed.
Too many rewards connected to his foundation.
He's always hiring.
While also advising and training others in life.
A good employer gets good remarks.
After all.
Why criticize the creator of us all?
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
A is for anthill which I have in my drive
B is for buzzing from a hidden bee hive
C is for cockroach that run all round the house
D is for droppings, that have been left by a mouse
E is for egg sack that hangs in my trees
F is for flying which the bugs do with ease
G is is for gophers which inhabit my yard
H is for hillocks with which my yard is marred
I is for insects which are all I can see
J is for june bugs, they're as big as my knee
K is for killing which I try to do
L is for lugworms that are shaped like a *****
M is for Mickey and his mousey like friends
N is for never...this infestation won't end
O is for Oscar, my scared orange cat
P is for well...pee...and he's good at that
Q is for quinine which I leave out to treat
R is for rodents, which I want Oscar to eat
S is for slugs which are killing my grass
T is for totalled, just give me a match and some gas
U is for underwriter who has insured my place
V is for vermin, that now own all my space
W is for water with which I started a flood
X is for poison, which will thin out their blood
Y is for Yertle, a turtle by suess
Z is me sleeping...to bugs and vermin on the loose
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
This is to all those misfits
To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets
To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk
The Magician swallowing 8-balls at the Huntington Beach peer
The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot
The **** tatting in a makeshift garage
The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers…
Not androids pontificating from lecterns
But grimy roots burrowing deep
Seismic rumblings toppling down
Insured ivory towers
Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs
Hustling and slinging
In the forbidden outshacks of civilization
In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards
Desperate and burning
For neither Truth or Beauty
But for LIFE
They do not tap wrists
No, they thump chests
To feel it beat
To feel it rage
For fugitive fugues
For new eternities
They embrace
********** romance
Graveyard necromance
The holy hunger for change
Defying commercials and charts
Shivering and howling on streets
Waging guerrilla war
Liberating cubicled-hearts
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
I never come here, you understand,
I'm of a higher social class,
But my washer dryer has broken down
And has left me without a single gown.
My dishwasher works fine and my wine rack is full,
But still, expensive washer dryers can breakdown
And make a lady frown.
I've got someone coming to fix it
(We have our washer dryer insured),
I should really get a new one but it's been really rather good...
It's always washed away the stains of fancy food.
Fellow launderer please understand -
as you look rather tough -
I won't judge you if you don't judge,
So let us wash our clothes in unspoken harmony
And make my inconvenience as unawkward as it can be.
But to my shame my snobbish mind assumes the worst;
That every rushing washer
Is thrusting clothes into the machines hurriedly,
Because they've all been on a killing spree.
Now the drying is almost done,
I can leave you with your dreary woes of working life and sleepless nights,
And go right home to dispose of that gun.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Had her legs insured for
movies, her career,
a million dollars
worth
calves and thighs
Kneecaps that just won't quit
and those tights
with the seams in the back
Oh.
My.
Gawd.
Betty Grable
Driving me insane sometimes
I lay awake at night
mentally budgeting future
paychecks
online shopping for those
lacy tights
I want to get my legs insured
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
That Old Drug Checklist? Completed. No Shame. So get over it.
(It's rather colloquial, however, revealings as well. This is what I said to a boy from driver's ed who wanted to be my boyfriend... So I tried to scare him off. Hahaha. Rationale a la 15-year-old):
Maple: It's not exactly something I talk about, ever, because it just demonstrates my insanity. But, I want to try everything. Every substance, every drug.
Justin: Um, why?
Maple: Why not?
Justin: Well, cause it’s bad.
Maple: If you believe in good or bad, right or wrong. I don't know what I believe except that we're all robots of each other and nothing matters anyways.
Justin: Hmm, that’s a different way of thinking about it. I think that curiosity isn't bad, just be careful. . .
Maple: I don't know if I am, but, meh. Is there really any good reason to do anything?
Justin: Umm, no, not really. It’s what you feel, not what others feel. Well. . . just be careful.
Maple: Safety is a conspiracy.
Justin: Why do you say that?
Maple: Think about it. You can insure everything you own, walk on the right side of the road and follow strong Christian morals that give the illusion of safety, as if you’ll go to heaven if you’re good and hell if you’re bad. But, with one fire, one plane crash. . . well it's all gone. The entirety of you. And who even knows if there is that insured heaven anyways?
Justin: Hmm, you know I think that the way you think is very interesting and mostly true, I mean, nothing is ever completely safe. You can't always be careful, but I also think that you should use this and try to live life to its fullest.
Maple: Thank you. But what is living life to it's fullest? Everyone always says that, but what does it mean?
Justin: Well, like you, I know that what you’re doing is unhealthy, but your not afraid to try different things. You experience more then anyone else, cause most people play it safe in their comfort zone.
Maple: Exactly! Always judging but never trying. Society has made these things into taboos, but are they really? I know that getting addicted is a terrible idea, but everything in moderation. Why always sit on the sidelines making assumptions behind whispered hands and backs? Why not jump into the game?
Justin: Yep, that’s right. You can't sit there say that’s bad or you should do this if you haven't done it yourself. Because if you haven't, you don't know what it’s like and you’re being hypocritical.
. . .
Maple: Um. . . Says the boy who just told me not to do drugs “cause it’s bad.”
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
The smoker
I bought some rare cigars;
had them insured against fire
And by three months later
I’d lost them all
in a series of small fires
But the ****** insurance company
wouldn’t pay
so I sued them
The judge
I’ve looked at all the evidence
and I accept the cigars had been
indeed destroyed
by a “series of small fires”
and so I order
the company to pay the insured
the sum of $15 000
The insurance company
We paid - we didn’t
want a prolonged legal case;
but now we are taking the client
to court
as it’s clear through
the very evidence he submitted
he caused the “series of small fires”
The judge
I find the insurance
company’s former client
guilty of arson;
and furthermore I order that
the man serve prison
a year each for each count
and so, to make it clear,
to see past all the smoke:
that’s 24 years in jail for arson
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.
My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.
In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.
I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.
I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.
In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
(To JS/07/M/378/ This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every
way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it
cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war,
he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of
his generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.
2.1k
Depression: a problem the nation has faced,
Not mentally, but
Within the economic structure.
The new President promised:
-relief for the needy
+FDIC- insured bank deposits
+FERA- gave money to the unemployed
-economic recovery
+SEC- regulated the stock market and restricted margin buying
-financial reform
+CCC- created jobs for unemployed men by restoring and conserving the environment
+NYC- provided part time employment to many college and high school students
And that was only the beginning.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
with flowers for the moonlight
the fright she bid goodbye
stars and leonids sparkled the night
like a wino in the midst with acquired dreams
I audit this blinky blue eyed sunrise
the two little satellites melted away
musical notes insured by a common man
harvested by the embraceable grim reaper
in this bizarre love pentangle
they arrive with their swarm of locusts
the thieves of silence!!
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
That December night happened
an act so traumatic.
It proved that humanity
had really turned pathetic.
It was a fatal wound
in the human history.
The fight she braved
will remain for more than a century.
The story of Nirbhaya,
the story of the fearless one.
Such was her fight
that she had ,both, lost and won.
How merciless they were,
those five, cruel villains.
The crime they committed
caused anger in the hearts of billions.
They assaulted.
They attacked.
With their senses drained
her innocence, they hacked.
They left her lying
bare, bleeding and injured.
Her death was certain,
that they had insured.
Her breathing became slow
but she never let it falter.
She decided to challenge fate
and fate she did alter.
She lay in the hospital
fighting for her living.
I can and I will do it,
she kept on believing.
She was an inspiration.
She was a bright light.
She made women vow
for justice they should fight.
The story of Nirbhaya.
The story of the fearless one.
Such was her fight
that she had, both, lost and won.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
Your night is the day's embryo,
You wake,
You're a parent to a new day.
You have responsibilities!
No time to do a zombie walk 'til noon.
Time for two, three, lines of finity;
It will jack y0u high on impermanence.
Certainty has never insured tomorrow.
This day is your last banquet?
Fill your plate, but not full.
Do not dine alone.
Say grace, for you are the Pope of the hour,
Your awareness is a sacrament
That blesses everything you see and touch.
Soon your day will die in a ****** cloud
Leaving you with both less and a little more.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:35 AM UTC
You’d be surprised
What can be accomplished
With your eyes sealed to the world
Stumbling in and out of love
With the wrong person,
The right person
Standing still while
The crowd moves about
And you face the opposite direction
Awaiting the joy
Coveted and insured from bloom
As it swims past your bones like a ghost
The miles you drive
Without taking the sights
Or abiding the lines
You can point and shoot
You can win or lose
But it holds no concern
It’s the feeling of knowing you’re lost
But cease to admit
Because it looks like life
There is no sleep to be had
When you shut your eyes to the world
Just an endless reaching for the walls you built
Maintain balance
So no one suspects
And tramples the comfort you found
They only see brown rust in your eyes
If you never show the raw burning red
And the vacancy of motive
Nothing hurts so bad
If you don’t stare directly at it
Or ignore it altogether
But when you finally open them
Don’t be skittish about what you’ve found
It’s only happening one blink at a time
War and drugs
And wars on drugs
And automatic guns
Disease and regret
And misleads and misread
And greed over guilt
Smiles and words
All things absurd
Hunger and cures
Lies and truths
Bigotry and fake news
Decay of education
Tribalism
Bibles
Prisons
Capital
Collateral
Intangibles
But you’ve pulled back the curtains
And you’ve drawn in the light
So you must never again close your eyes
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
From time to time I need a little help at work, casual labour. Someone said Bugg was a hard worker, you'll find him in the Crown. Sure enough he was there, yes he'd be pleased to help, starting the next day. Bugg used to live in a house, but bought a painted gypsy wagon, horse and all to live an itinerant life. He kept moving on, from one village common to another. I collected him at first, and sure enough he worked well. He said he once met Rod Stuart in a bar and I had no reason to disbelieve him, still don't.
He started using a motorbike to get to work. His time-keeping was, well, non-existent. He came out with excuses like there was a police car cruising nearby, so he had to stay put as his bike was not taxed or insured. So we had a little conversation about that, and I thought I had convinced him it would be worthwhile getting it legal. He concluded the discussion by saying that well, the police don't stop bikes much anyway.
One day he showed up at about eleven. Later on I casually asked if there had been a reason for his late arrival. His disarming reply was a simple 'no, not really'. A nice enough fella, but I was beginning to get the measure of him.
Instead of being paid at the end of the week, Bugg wanted his money daily. I realised he was spending each day's money in the pub every night. I was still glad of the help though.
When the work ran out he moved his wagon a few miles to another common, where he had work helping with a barn conversion. Ideal for him, a village with a common, work and a pub.
One very early morning someone on their way to work saw his wagon engulfed in flames. He was in it, burnt to a crisp. When I heard about it I was shocked, but I can't say I was surprised.
Poor old Bugg, hopeless old Bugg, rest in peace mate.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Revolt is not Riot
Appropriate reaction to state violence
80% unemployment for black youth
Poverty has its roots
In Slavery
Victims of death by ******
Unnatural
He did it himself they say
He died
His neck snapped
And broke the silence
Disturbed the peace
Inciting violence
Sparked Light
Of resistance
In the hearts and minds
Of the confined
And fear in the hearts of those who don't matter to mind
Modern lynchings
At the hands of police
And they call us thugs?
When we're killed for making eye contact
Or walking home from a store run
By maniacs with or without licensed guns
For having the nerve to shop in Walmart
Or playing with a toy gun
You know,
Cops and robbers?
But what happens when cops are now robbers of lives and justice in our communities
Then all too often they shift the narrative to you and me
Of why unemployed and underemployed thugs are stealing food from the grocery
Occupied like Syria and Iran
For failing to purchase
With dollars they don't have
In a store like CVS that is insured by the flag
How will order ever be restored?
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
assembled
our living love being aligned
I tell you we re-union
my dream is boss run
an image of my dad viral to come to me
atoning tall alert and correct, stought 6'6"Utahan
the all knowing blank look on the man
Daaaaaad I say all long and drawn out
something big of the future about
something big say kanye west
the time of the stars coming
a being in the house of daughters mother
the her happy and bright concerned loving
looking like her youth in memory
the web tumblr blog pleiadian-starseed hosting
you celestial being honored kanye west
my pink quart shard from Louis' mom
a deep one full breath the sound
of 1000 honey bees buzzing
my finger tips dripping
how about you
say the Dove cooing
my eye explodes in vision of matrixs
colors designed shapes patterns
all life reflexed is each other...
all thru the mind watching me
now about your shoe our moment over keen
with family moving in the ground and patterns
the non celestial beings losing in his shoe
his eye of greed watching me maligning me
from a half mile away all he knows
is the **** in his shoe...
neanderthal evangelical living dead meat
stop exploiting creatures
let them live amongst all to commune
the cooing dove far ahead of man
mimicking the sounds of crows
I talk given back to the Dove
without speaking
the way of the dove
Starlight insured gjmars 6/27/15
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
She scheduled her death for November 3.
Her orphan hope,
If hope could still be cradled,
Was for a thin sweep of snow on the ground,
Maybe a bit of a howl out of the northwest,
(A dog whistle wind, her son Duncan called it,)
and,
If these fertile and malignant aliens at outpost
In her pancreas and liver,
If they held gracious,
Then she would attempt one last respite
and
She'd stand alone at winter’s edge
Inside the pencil sketch of a forest,
The oak and barren elms asleep,
Their crooked witch’s fingers
Scratching upward, thin and still,
If she could endure long enough,
She’d tempt a final plea,
To overwhelm the Carciginians
and
She would wake these slumbering giants
With her soft envy,
She would beg the forest for its for secrets,
She would kneel and ask for the gift of a long nap,
Her wish to rise,
When all awake in spring again.
Of course in the end,
She bartered her desperation,,
Exchanged the ignominy of begging for her life,
For the crow’s caw,
The ivory of a full moon,
The damp step of a midnight in dew,
Her forest held her,
The wind whispered her name in soft repeat,
As she realized her eternity,
Her evermore,
Her head up, her heart insured.
Always this sheltered wood had counseled her,
She was careful to apologize,
Offer a traveler's grace,
It was her last goodbye.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 10:51 PM UTC
Your beauty is not obscure,
No need to feel insecure.
Because you're the winner whenever my heart race,
You got me lost within your love without a trace.
There's no doubt about it I ensure,
You can have my heart to be insured.
Trust that your heart won’t be misplaced,
What you'll fall into is to be embraced.
So drop those make up products and cream,
Cause your natural beauty is surreal like a dream.
It's your soul that highlights your beauty.
So when you look at yourself in the mirror know that you make me happy,
Because you are the reflection of my happiness,
Like the moon to the sun,
I can't shine unless you shine...
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
I am America
**** black and white people
We are on our own now
mixed up and left
to seethe
**** you both
I knew you wouldn’t
get it in time
we are the only humans left
in America
how many words have we had together?
***
War?
*** again?
War that is ***
Hatred?
Hatred is the white part
of this country
and psyche
vengeance is black as ****** oil
forgiveness
heritage
love
evolution
historical experience
beauty
awareness
humanities language
a new whiteness
We have tried to teach you
the people you **** into being mixed
insistence
denial
love
you should have snuck knives in your chains!
black women!
you should have killed them during ***
By any means necessary
sorry not reasonable
**** is **** and been white for 400 years
talk about black people ****** white women
**** you whiteness
**** is never okay
but the trauma on black men
is unbearable
what you whiteness expect without
the treatment you give
your own whiteness treatment
**** your misdirected violence
for a buck or two
for a ****
slavery
whiteness communication
with blackness
handcuffs
modified insured slave chains
the same company you keep
cause your lust to **** people
and look away from the whiteness
that still is
I don’t give a ****
we are mixed now without a choice
no turning back
dancing uncontrollably
with our privates out
by choice
not force
our passion
is ****
love
baby slaves
birthing slaves
marriage
children
future
economy
language is not your waste
it is not the excess of whiteness
it is a measure of cooperation
we are more like the rest of the world
than any of your oppressors or oppressed
language
social functions
birthing humans that will destroy
whiteness
that is a joke
wasn’t funny
stop laughing
******* clowns
breathing this mixed race
feels good
even in the most ****** sense of existing
We have to love ******* from the **** of slavery
being mixed
back to simply human
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
*moiety: a half, an indefinite portion, part, or share.
writer reader
can't have one without the other
normally don't fool around with linear spacing,
there but for the grace of god the words come a tumbling
so fast I plant them down in rows as is customary
but when it comes to that moiety times two blues,
when you've been up all night laying down tracks
and nobody has read you latest histrionics,
you wondering what for do I gig this gig,
fingers asking what's the point of ink staining
heart bugging you, never satisfied, even alone,
needs somebody to know, a status update,
a poem unread is a sin my maybe friends,
so if you should you trip over a stumble bum's poem,
good or bad matters not, when you read, you complete,
so dying on the vine, untouched, incomplete,
be the first to have moiety times two with it,
the first read is the like the first kiss,
a certification of what is called
po-moeity carnal knowledge
a half, an indefinite portion, a part,
when shared, whereon it be writ-read,
your place on heaven and earth insured,
when you seal someone's else's deal,
I'll know and I'll be putting that checkmark
in my assignment book, and if you should go so far
to press the little red heart, my finger I'll crook,
and install you as co author of the words
a po with no mo
is half a dream half remembered
tired of singing the moiety times two blues song,
*** going, go forth and like it,
the Frenchies they got style,
when reading a po-mo they like,
they call you up on the phone and ask,
voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
which is French for moiety times two blues no more
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC