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Gods1son Nov 2018
A lot has been said about environ-mental pollution
Okay, can we drop the environ for a second
How about the mental pollution in this generation

The internet loads us with data but not necessarily useful information
I wonder, do we have a sieve in our brains
that filters the data as it drains
Or we absorb them all, to clutter up our minds
Gigabytes of junks downloaded into our mental and emotional system

I was on the internet to seek information
But my mental system received Ads injection
Causing a buy this, buy that stimulation
You are not okay if you don't have this or have that
You don't look good, if you're not shaped like this or like that

What we ingest from the internet is 40% information and 60% malware
Don't quote me
Just an opinion that I want to share
This pollution is **** real and it scares!
GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge;
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of “The Terror of the Thames.”

His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.

The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame,
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER’S ON THE LOOSE!

Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger’s rage.
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!

But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear—
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.

Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide—
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.

His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol’n away-
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.

In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks—
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.

Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise—
But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes.

And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives—
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.

Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I’m sure she was not drowned—
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.

The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.

Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Miss Masque Feb 2012
Each individual jelly-belly
jellybean in a clear bag
tied with a red wire
is so different from each
other individual jelly-belly
jellybean in that clear bag.

The one that I find,
without fail,
without fault,
is always the one that
tastes like black licorice.

The sticky, overly sweet,
bitter black gunk that junks
up my perfectly good bag
of jelly-belly jellybeans,
and I am never paying
enough attention
to catch myself
before I pop it
into my mouth,
unaware that I will be
receiving: not cotton candy,
not coconut, nor cherry or lime,
but a black piece of bitter-sweetness,
whose taste always seems to linger.
Jedd Ong Sep 2014
The yellow sun
Seems to have shied
Away from my father.

I take one hard look,
Cut
His figure like cardboard,
Paste

Him in the throes
Of the Great Wall,

The seaports of Guangzhou...
It fits him like a glove.

My grandfather
Still thinks it's 1937.

He came here
On a boat
That collapsed
Kissing
Our blueing shoreline.

And I'm not sure if he has
Any memory
Of home but
If so, he seems determined
To live as a straggler.

Forever caught in between
His beloved red-ink
Chinese newspapers

And the fact
That he swears
Quite fluently in Tagalog.

My dad
Always forbade me from cursing.
Rarely did himself.

When he did though,
He'd do it fluently
In Chinese,

His beloved
Local newspaper,
Black and white,
Folded
On his lap.

...sometimes I wonder
If the boat
Truly made it
At all.
DJ Thomas Aug 2010
The slant-eyed
giant hunter
people of Tsul Kalu
came in peace

To become
the central universe
Cherokee white elders
hereditary priests
teaching peace

Winged rattlesnake
constellation
of time untime

Singing the death song

Sacred spirits
animal, plant, herb and tree

The wheel
what is, will be

(The ancient Chinese were
the greatest astronomers.

Later in the 1400's their
massive treasure fleets
mapped the World

The Yuki, Navajo, Apache,
Yuchis, Ming **, Melungeons,
Shawnee (Oceanye **), Sioux,
Cree Ojibuwa and Moskoke
have Chinese ancestors
some claimed to be Chinese

European explorers told of
elders speaking Chinese
ancient Chinese artefacts
and wrecked junks seen

History as taught might
be but a fairytale
)
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
lilpoiein Apr 2014
My mind is a bin
A very large bin
Filled with a huge amount of junks
And it doesn't even need to wear a trunk
It is exposed to the gobbledygook
Krystal May 2014
Tornado comes in big
Like a snake swallowing a mouse.
It tries to clean
The town
By swirling things into it.
Faraway, somewhere in the sky,
waiting to clean,
And then leaves with the junks
to clean again.
FC Azaele May 2021
Paperworks and junks pilled into mountains
on top of my ruined desk
“I wonder what had went wrong
for me to stack up such a mess?”

Indolent, Oh! so petulant!...
But still I digress
Saying I didn’t have time
To sort out the cluttering hefty mess

Jesting around with the things that avert my gaze,
Such a child I was,
I paid no mind to it all day

But...
Night came too soon,
and instantly I say...
“When will I ever sort out this mess?”

Perhaps never, but still I say
“Someday, okay?”
Hip Hip Hooray!
I met a guy named Jack,
Who asked if anyone wanted gack.
When I said right here my name is Zach,
He sold me a big ol sack.
I smoked and smoked that crystal twack.
I smoked and smoked and got all whack.
When the bub was out I grabbed more to pack.
And when that ran out I went back to Jack.
But the smoke this time wasn't white but black.
I said ******* this junks a hack.
Asked where he gets off selling bunk *** smack.
I kicked his *** and took my money back.
Stole the keys to his wife's Cadillac.
Again. I don't write poems to make problems not look like problems. I don't want to brag or make light of a true problem. I simply find my addiction easier to cope with if I make it halirous. Seriously though kids. There's nothing funny about methamphetamine. Say nope to dope.
© Zachary Joseph Morsette 2015
The magic doesn't exist between the sheets or is herd in the sounds of a drunken night whatever it was it has surely died.
Long since been taken away with the tide and I like so many others simply pick the bones of the greats clean.

In hopes to capture the essence I simply repackage the old lines as something new burning the candle at both ends existing a reject of today  and a connection of what never was .

I am the *** in the street.
The fool in the cell drunk out his mind yearning only to howl at the moon to hear the sounds of my own madness .

I'm the burnout ,I'm the drunk who is all to happy to be left alone I need no shelter the storm is a friendly reminder .
The chaos lets me know I'm alive .

The burn kicks me in the *** and pushes me to another high I never needed the scene for I find company a burden and my own demons guide me for better than any you may know .

The candles flame cast shadows but never blinds the few who understand the battle for what it is.

The junks all the same just new names and the same train wreck.
The arrogance of youth cant touch the heat of the bitter old fool.
The ice in the glass and one last call to remind me it's fade until the next.

I may me be a throw back to another time .
But a slurred voices words still my own hold there weight .
Trends and tricks styles suited to please are best left to the clowns who seek acceptance from the page .

Sometimes you just have to stagger a bit to know your alive.
Bows N' Arrows Mar 2016
Trips to Shanghai taking photographs
of junks that were full of bones
Forgotten pixels stashed in the cover
of shade in the corner of the room
drawings in pastel paint brushed on the walls
You fell from the sky and crashed into my eye
I flew from the ground and landed in your thighs
Crucifix Sunday's and brunches in mobs
We drank the nectar of Pine trees
and redeemed our throbbed wrongs
Yenson Aug 2020
Hahaha   hahaha    hahahahahahahahahahaha  hahahahah
got them starving
starved, hungry, desperate
left them without release
pining in disconnection
dumb sickos pent up and desperate

here feed on this
dive in and gorge yourselves on this morsel
for it will be another spell before next feeding time
didn't check to see if I missed anything
I do not digest the ******* of sick rubbishes
but I know the starved desperation of the unwashed stinks
like their minds and their soulless putrid carcasses

pity I can stay to watch them all crawl out to feed
wide eyed and dribbling spittle
neon funk burning their empty heads
come out and feed the poor hungry desperate morons
lowlife servants of mobsters and bottom feeders used as errand thugs
but I ain't here to watch I was not born at street level
Hahaha   hahaha    hahahahahahahahahahaha  hahahahah
You are a media
A pride of the world
A means to an end
An accurate accessory

The social in the media
It welcomes it's user
An epitome of ideas
Where education takes place

Education is part of socialization
The social media educates it's user
It grants many the ability to know
It serves without delay

The social media is humble
It has accommodated a lot of junks
To produce a Juarez
for jubilance

The social media joins parties together I would have not had poems to gather
Hello poetry has become a father
The social media is indeed the mother

The social media is patient
It has been denied by penitent
But their accusations are pending
Untill they get understanding

Let's develop love for the social media
There is nothing not found in the social media
Reformers need social media
For clarification come to social media
For education come to social media
Education a part of humanity
Graham Nov 2017
Dear someone,
Don't take this the wrong way
You need only pray
Pray, this suicidal thoughts go away
But all my dark clouds are out to play
That depression soon joins the fray
Dear someone,
Listen, am screaming at the top of my lungs..
But they make it sound like thrash filled with junks..
So to you its like ping - pong
So, you take me less seriously than usual
If only I could show that I can stand tall like king Kong..
Will you then hear the beats on my chest?
Dear someone,
If I..
Know it's not your fault
The light In me was too dim to fight the darkness..
All you saw was a smile
A smile that told different stories
It could've been different
If only the moonlight tale
Was an epic fairytale.
Shobhit Mar 2018
The purpose of your life is often forgotten
and at times it doesn't even matter.
You toil hard to recollect it, reconsider it and somehow
Reconstruct it.

For a while, you take pride in seeing what you have rebuilt from scratch, from broken bones.

But that moment of self-appraisal is so ephemeral that you fail to capture it like you have done all your life for tons of other moments, you thought were vital.
But they were lost in the mist of
Procrastination and complacency, your only two bullets in your barrel.

So you are done recreating your purpose, one more night went by
without your eyes getting what they have craved for years, sleep.

Your brain exhausted and demolished inch by inch in the futile iterations, but you don't give up. And yet those red cracked up
dry eyeballs don't fail to do What they do best, see through the cracks lines of your glued pieces.

They exactly know how and when they will fall apart again for they have seen the same now for untrackable times.
Your head doesn't even try to comprehend what you are
forcing it to understand. For it has accurately anticipated the outcome.

After all, past experiences do save a lot of time effort and energy. Once again you have ruined your night, and perhaps the day to come and years to go.

All your determination spent in useless resolutions that are destined to doom tomorrow first thing in the morning.

Coz you have used freshly brewed Willpower to exhilarate a soul that seeks rest and solitude and blankness, a speck of nothingness if possible only for a second.

How pathetic is your cognition, failing to apprehend your own mind while you live your life in vanity claiming to understand others?
For once in your life, surrender.Raise both your hands and say "**** this ****". Go far far away from the things, people and places you are remotely familiar with.

Give your thoughts a ventilation and your head a passage for clearance. Pour every drop of them into a pit and cover it with rich humid assimilation.Don't worry if they will germinate.Just leave them there on their own.

Move away to the edge of nothingness, clearing the shelves, dusting off all phony ideas, dreams, and whatnots, you have accumulated during those insipid nights which you thought were your companions, your shed of solitude for you were a fool.

For once,  surprise yourself, love yourself like you have done to everyone else in your life but you.

For once, don't bother thinking before doing something.

For once, taste the mystical taste of consequences no matter how grave they may be.

For once, just do it and let time and another side of your brain handle the rest. It has been there for a while now doing nothing but watching the other half thinking, compiling junks for years.

This is nothing but bathing your soul, your conscience, your perspective in the spring of voidness.
tina kimi Aug 2022
Hapi Isles was what my country once called before the civil unrest.
Referred to as the most friendliest people in the south pacific.

we so are so friendly in fact that we told our western allies, never mind cleaning up your World II mess. Just leave the bombs, guns, machines and junks as a way of thank you for saving our lives. Right?

like our normal phrase "Set, Set,  Tagio Tumas"(all Good and Thank very Much)

80 year later here you are at my  shore remembering your loved ones who were lost 80 years ago. and i will continue to bury my people as times goes.

as we are living on a ticking Bomb, an uncertainty of when the Bombs will explode.
I wrung your neck like a gay biker on acid could if he were on T.V.
or like a Gypsy might, cold from linearity in a Czechoslovakian sea
This churning emotional turmoil nearly killed my neighbor in 1998
when he was ******* ugly ******* in a hobo shack on Pontiac Lake
It's been a lousily-bad day because a thief stole my front bike wheel
& I am bleeding like a Russian prince on day 1 of this ****** cycle
& I learned that Tito Jackson was not the ****** brother of Michael
Wayne Cochran is dead, & soon he will be buried on an island with
dead X-princess Diana, so Wayne's dead corpse'll have to be ferried
by ferry, because this cadaver is too fat, by swimmers, to be carried
Medically, in this Haitian climate, my 4 **** lips are soft & vibrant
I could pull my fancy Ocean City taffy across your puffy, ready lips
or crack ribs that float above Tongan-girdled hips while I yuck it up
with nips, spooks & 4 ***** in junks that will be sunk like drunken
ships on bloodless, gutless, rudderless, maiden-headed maiden trips
I always make delicious pie crust with top-quality-white-pig-fat lard
& later, so ******* won't steal it, I smear pig **** on my E.B.T. card
I check my manly genitals, I check them a lot, to make sure that my
impressively-large ****, that everybody loves, has not been shot off
Play dead David Cassidy's song, “Sitting on a Pile of Pig Parts” for
those here, who've been to jail, but who've never done it up the rear
I told David, “You might cram walnuts up your **** and blame me
for the coffee crop failure in Spain, before Susan Dey goes insane.”
Many years ago a turnip farmer bought an *** to pull his turnip cart
because he supplied the turnips to the produce department at Kmart
1 day when his wife was turnin' tricks with the lot lizard Kara Jean,
who was the most relentless ****** the farmer had ever seen, a new
Kmart caught fire & was completely destroyed & everyone was sad
I kissed a married twosome of ****-divers last week, 1's a tall ****
school marm, all legs & lipstick, & the other is at her ****-*** peak
Halifax hospital's awful, awfully happy to give normal, ***-abiding
*****, 6 Thanksgiving Day *** ****** with Tom turkey drum-sticks
Consider my wealth as it is considerable even what you'll not see &
I'll pay for stuff that is too big to steal, that is too big to steal for me
Put your head on my shoulder, hem-stitch it on for good, for I'm the
nuclear life of elite human power forcing you to act like you should
Awakening dead kills a head-achingly wakeful state that men dread
You took back your fake teen love suddenly like a godless heathen,
to focus on a lonely guy you camped in the forest with called Ethan
1 day Missy, you're goin' to find a dead whale on your porch with a
letter that says: "Dear Miss Breanna, I mailed to you a dead whale."
Remember what has been said, after your only Richard #22 is dead,
Breanna #21 my pretty pet, will suffer from biting, post-petty regret
Like a ***** ****** with runny genital ******, a ***** ***** gave to
me, runny genital ****** I didn't need that hurt #6 ***** after I peed
1 moment, you are eating peanuts with a homosexual on a bridge &
the very next moment, you are tossing the ****-****** off the bridge
We will play grab-*** when our ***** are up for grabs, after picking
off scabs where snipers stood, on a roof, as pink powder puffs ****
Let us play grab-*** where our ***** are up for grabs, after scraping
off scabs as snipers would from the roof as powder-pink puffs puke
Witch, I've moved on, my sub-zero, hypothermical, steel-brassiered
witch ***, so hoist up your lard ***, waddle out & ******' get over it!
Do not fault me for stiffening my tip's nip into a scary pose because
I picked strips of ****** paw prints 'cross Laredo's landscape of my
prairie rose, without trimming the glued-on nails of my 7 hairy toes
Sixty streets we could pave with a ****** in my blender circling me
for days, chilling with 8 Mile 'Troit *****-homies who call me Dave
I want my ******* to be much larger, but not as big as a tow boat or
a barge or the Titanic, or the Love Boat or a warehouse garage door
To enhance 2 ***** I'd made drawings in 1 sittin' for Vietnam vets,
who said that the V.C. can be defeated in 10 years, L.B.J. permittin'
My passions are: 10 daily epilepic seizures, pimping my ** *******,
telling lies about Hillary, Honduran flag abuse, hobbling & limping
because I am incapacitated & loyal, after burnin' out #12 heater coil
portillo Jun 2020
In the cartoon America
Paeans to pan sexuality
And man can marry man

Some talk softly of red eyed cows
Others voices hoarse
Speak sublime
With tenets of rain

The 8th planet yet undiscovered

Yes Atlas still carries earth
Life on the Red Sea

Jolly Jack dhows and junks
Automatic weapons grenades
Tread slush slush slush

No one remembers Verlaine or Rimbaud
Jack Kerouac just another rapper
Identified by spell check
They call him Lil Jean

Resurrected spandex
Garbage Batch Kid
Oceans

The Salton Sea fades in the sink
Every few hundred years
It comes like Christ
Flowing and bringing life
But perhaps we killed it permanently
But Jesus still walks the dead Sea
He gives me reason to believe
These visions I see
It's hard to believe how Christ solves my need with so much speed
Smoking a bowl of ****
At 17 I was really a lost teen
But cross made me kneel
I couldn't control the feelings I feel
And I knew Jebus to be the real deal
I heard the script and for my soul
He wrote a writ
To punish the demons
That full my life with *****
He told me I am jew would you call me a ****
I feel revealation
I have great hope for salvation
We will become the final nation
I don't worry relegation
I wait for the blood of Christ very patient

I will never be a patient all wounds healed by his grace
They hit you once
Turn your face
He lives everywhere including outspace
Yenson Oct 2020
Fantasy psyche attacks are so psychedelic
they have lost their minds in the haze
born with addictive personality and colic
toxicated ravers join the raving craze
whiter shade of pale has always been maniacal
drugged up minds dancing in a daze
honking like animal farm pigs they're comical
watch trailer thrash hopping in disgrace
jiving groupthink all in subjective hypotheticals
recessive junks of lesser god on the raze
twirling in the red sunset of the hypocritical
like bottom feeders left out to graze

— The End —