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Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure as the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

-----------------------------------

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


----------------------------------------------

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

---------------------------------------

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

---------------------------------------------

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

-----------------------------

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

---------------------------------------

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

----------------------------------

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


--------------------------------

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

-----------------------------

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

---------------------

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

----------------------------

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

-------------------------

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

-------------------

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

-------------------

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

-------------------------------

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

----------------------------------------------

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

-----------------------------

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

------------------------------------

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

-----------------------------------------------

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

-----------------

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

------------------------------

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.
The uneven sentimental of adolescence,
as the spring leaf
with tender sawtooth;
Will you please,
let poetry take place of numbers
to reckon our memories?

When sunset bestows
that rearward glance
with golden sight;
melting my eyes
is the reflux
of our youth.
ShamusDeyo Nov 2014
The Elders of the Elven Mists, at the Death of the Old Queen
From all around the Realm they came a Conclave to convene
The fair haired Golden Locks of young Azky they did Crown

Queen Azky Rode a Royal Beast of All Dragons he was King
The Queens Beast Yaz Kere Loved Soaring About on Wing
Yaz Kere knew it was his Royal fate to Protect  Queen Azky
And Carry her aloft his Back Steadfast so Her Elf Arrows Fly

The Dragons lived in Erehwon upon the Chrysenal Trees
The Elves harvested the Leaves for Enchanted Wizardry
Much Magic came from those Potions as Magical Notions
To protect both Elf and Beast in Battle against enemy Hovens

The Mordel slipped in by night to Steal the Magic Leaves
but Yaz roared Alarm to dragons as swords  Pulled from Sheaths
Queen Azky, Quiver, Elven Bow and Yaz Off to the Sky they go

Blades clashed and Arrows Flew as Dragons passed above the war
As Elven arrows hit thier Mark, hordes weakened to rearward
The Mordel tried but Only failed and thus ends the Battles Tale
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss.
Ah, do not, when my heart hath ’scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune’s might,
    And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
    Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
Anais Vionet Jul 2022
The sun seemed to rise slowly, almost hesitantly, this morning - a yellow syrup pouring into a deep, dark blue sky. The air is hot and thick, like a low viscosity liquid. We’re going out on the boat this morning and when you have 9 passengers and crew, everyone’s toting something.

Kim and Bili have towels and a shoulder bag of sunscreen lotions and repellents, Charles has a cooler with everything needed to make breakfast omelets on the grill (the eggs have been pre-beaten, the veggies pre-chopped, the cheese grated, the meat diced).

Anna and Lisa are toting a cooler of sodas buried in ice. Leong has the “dry box” with phones, Nintendo switches, kindle readers and iPads. Leong’s rolling a luggage rack of textbooks, Sunny has a large coffee thermos, and Sophy has a bag with dry clothes for everyone.

The girls are practically running over each other in their eagerness to be last onboard because the first two get to towel the night’s condensation off everything.

I carried the lunch cooler full of Chick-fil-a sandwiches, but my main job is to check the indicators and disconnect the dockside water, drainage and electrical feeds as Charles takes the helm and begins his “preflight” before he fires up the Mercury 500-hp engines. I know we’re a “go” when he turns on the underwater lights - that’s my signal to cast off.

The engines roar to life and then purr as we slowly pull away from the dock, we girls greasing ourselves up with sunblock. The air conditioning begins to help but picking up speed is what finally breaks the hold of the oppressive heat.

As we exit the marina Charles opens-up on the throttle and that’s always a thrill. We usually ski first, before the lake gets crowded, and lounge later.

Sunny, Leong and Anna like to sit in the bow, refreshed by occasional lake spray and the wind-whipped cool. Leong likes to sit in the cabin, like Charles’ copilot while the rest of us recline on lounges facing rearward to watch the skiers.

Our summer mornings have passed like this, launching around 6 am, skiing, then swimming, studying and getting off the lake before the noontime “heat advisories” and afternoon thunderstorms.

Later, I’m relaxing in the shade, having just gotten out of the lake, and I’m on my iPad.

“What are you writing?” Anna asks.

“Oh, I write poetry and stories - mostly stories these days but there is some occasional poetic recidivism.” I say.

“You write poetry?” She repeats, as if shocked, “I didn’t think there were any poets left.”

“Well,” I say, “Most poets died, in the early flames of science, trying to prove the pen was mightier than the sword, but there are still poets around - they live in cities where they’ll try and wash your windshield if you stop at a traffic light, and they’re frequently mistaken for the homeless - or they may actually be homeless.”

“Can I read some of your writing?” She asks, after waiting through my long joke.

“Absolutely NOT.” I answer.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Recidivism: a relapse to undesirable behavior.

slang:
moto = hot
Dead Rose One Jan 2015
how
tears fall
off my face

cog the recognition screen,
walking behind your brain
make eyes rearward,
laugh upon meeting my
****** embolism

purposed to provoke
names of deities invoke
ninety answer, choose me,
final solution, choose none,
this my first chapter,
you just read my first
last verse

we already met in a previrus life
The wackiest debacle of spoof-esque and entirely haphazard manipulation is profound and wholly visible whilst seeing tradition being drowned and beaten oh so violently at the many spindle-thread-thin hands of progress.
Unknown etymologies spring into the air then fall approximately six-feet down and initiate rearward propellers and jets that're (in place of a better single word) one after another, in order to breathe.
And I learn
And I learn
And I learn
I appropriate and accumulate, store and enunciate, words that contemplate at any rate and though this senseless, nonsensical, principle poetry does destroy me by poison or curse or by noisy disperse, I continue to spite and despite my deriding exciting writing for those and they who've no forte or way nor say for both the beauty and ugliness of language and textual perfection.
This is probably one of my personal favorites, I really like how it turned out.
Ronald Jones Jun 2015
Sometimes a disturbance
feeling like a runaway chariot
rumbles round and round
and down and down
and up and up
through the deep valleys of his belly...
causing him to expel
a  half-digested sugary pastry
and a couple garlicky olives...

while failure soon attends  
the muffling of explosive
rearward cries ...
often in distinguished company
Don Moore Dec 2023
Seeing now that photograph of that little boy
Now taken so very long ago, that was then, me
I sit now, looking back through each and every day
Dreaming of those halcyon times, pondering the past

Those days long ago where I once picked wild flowers
I wonder just how so many days have quickly passed
This a puzzle that I just cannot now ever understand
I wonder how those days flew past just so very fast

One moment I was young, then now, I’m suddenly old
Time silently trickling past, days now so long gone
Black, sun up, sun down, another time now turned over
Day after day, much passes now spent looking backward

Faces fluttering, dreaming of those people now gone
Some were bad, some were ugly, others I then loved
Push, pull, life tugging until I write of my deep emotions
The most important, life lived and also loves occasion’s

Now staring, I lie here today, looking always rearward
Realising how time does fly, and then slips past so easily
Pleasures, regrets, those wasted times I never shall forget
Always moving onwards, until the last bell for me chimes

Heart torn, tortured by these immensely deep thoughts
Those that I lost, comrades from my darkest long gone
The need to write down, of those long lost days of daring do
But finally realising sadness, those days now long past
YOU BETTER **** EVERYBODY BEFORE THEY **** YOU FIRST even though ****** is illegal on Cebu Island. Beware of the social security death registry. It's over baby! Accept it. I'm making it with your sister even though she's witless, because I like her better than you after the surgery made your ill parts titless.
onlylovepoetry Jan 2020
for all the lost, everlasting lovers

~for mara~

why this morning does the emoting
cast me backwards to all my lost lovers,
imagined and real, yet lasting in crevices hidden,
that beckon, asking to be reclaimed,
recalling when our names combined, many meetings
of lips, kisses so old, decades, yet so well realized

that to see, taste them, is blink, easily accomplished

day beginning, with deep penetrating glances rearward,
unclear how this clarifies the muddled visions of what
the future dreams may contain, ah, love and pain,
love and pain, a tango tangled tandem, indeed,
one hopes the past is prologue, pro for lips sensitized logged,
those kisses past, kisses yet dreamt, those works-in-process

stir the body to rise from the couch, to stretch my arms

up/skyward, grab jeans, go the Persian immigrant on the corner,
for a bun and a black coffee, who wishes me a good new year,
stunned silent when embrace him with hands-full, for his wish for me
enables a gratitude overcoming that only strangers can give;
those lost lovers yet lasting, thank them too, wish them happy year,
winter warmth, comfort them in my crevices-kept, forever retained

Love you, miss you, never gone, never forgotten, ever first,

everlasting...


1/3/20
7:11am
wichitarick Nov 2017
DREAM IN THE DARK

Backed into a corner ,laying low looking forlorn why can't it simply be bright in the morn

Brightest entrance  steering me across the house's floor,one step too many dropping again below another dank cellar door

Maybe moments saved in reserve so all the danger is a temporary stranger,laying in wait like the next storm

How often have we been blinded by bliss,feelings hidden by a warm kiss that carries to our core

Images split when lacking grit our common way is with wit,some days linger ,will it sap all our strength to mourn

Blessed are the babies with basic needs,growth desires deep energy ,adding life in layers ,good or bad but always more

We let our minds play fancy, not reaching in to deep just gently dancing ,silent edges become the norm

Nothing old is near what we can not feel can not be feared,simple suppression now a common daily chore

Many may plead to open up,hard to  pour from an empty cup,what can be built with an empty form

Rock solid not even a blink,emotion controlled through a wink,stone cold ,lacking passion leaves little to explore

Long buried inhibitions can't make an exhibition,  keeping commotion buried will just leave us harried,sometimes facing rearward can leave us reborn.R.C.
Left it a little open, but many go a long time never knowing how much we left buried,are we truly ourselves when we try to start this way? lying to only ourselves.  I appreciate your reading. your input in helpful. Rick
The night was long and the sky was pitch-black.
A long day of work for me had ended.
I found myself walking the long road back.
Had I known what cruel, sick fate portended,
I would have stayed at home that dark, drab day.

The trees surrounded the road on each side,
Making it hard to note even your hand.
The gloomy trees did make the path not wide.
Still I trod, waiting for familiar land.
In the distance, creatures began to stir.

Knowing no better, I continued on.
Even as my neck-skin began to shake,
I knew I just had to make it home, soon.
When I could begin to feel the ground quake,
My uneasy walk became a swift pace.  

Vibrations of the hard earth were no joke.
And as I hurried, my ears heard faint noise.
A rustling of a nearby bush, I bespoke.
Just the wind, I thought, to maintain my poise.
But I could sense something unbecoming.

As the strong tremors of the dirt endured,
I lost my footing, and fell right over.
Cuts and scrapes made my vision obscured.
But which saw sight which made me seek cover.
A sight of a rotting, wretched, ripe corpse!

I recoiled roughly rearward, in great shock.
Never had I seen such a stark, grim sight.
Looking, it seemed death by self-caused Glock.
As best I could see by what little light.
Panicked, I found myself dashing away.

With scarce thought or mind to which direction,
My legs ran as fast as they could dare fare,
Though my mind didn’t make the connection,
That I could walk into something’s vile lair.
I had to forget that which I had seen.

My mind did not awaken till I was,  
In a darkened, moistened, and chilled cave.
Having composure anew, I felt fuzz,
As I considered if it would be safe,
The slight static popping in my ears stayed.

For whatever reason, I did not leave.
It was cold, wet, and pouring down outside.
And I still needed a moment to grieve
That poor, lonely soul still lying outside.
All the while as I stood, the static stayed.

Feeling piqued, and on edge, I explored it.
The cold cave seemed abandoned and alone.
I could see little, due to dark unlit.
But my ears did pick up a strange, low groan.
Mixing with the ringing, rattling static.

I was most disturbed, yet I could not stop.
Something greater compelled me to walk on.
The next noise I did hear was a loud pop.
Like the sick dislocation of a bone.
Inwardly, I noted the static sound.

After much traversing, I reached the end.
My heart was beating a drum in my chest.
I knew I had myself with which to fend.
As the static in my ears would attest.
It had reached a fevered, maddening pitch.

What I saw defied imagination.
Obtuse, abstract, yet horrifying sights!
Creatures of inhuman shape and proportion!
Their only clear feature, eyes gleaming bright,  
As they lurched and shook, as if in a dance.

Screaming wildly, I ran from that foul place.
Feeling the static cling onto my face.
It rained on the night that we first had ****** ******* with a pan
& I could feel your pancreas rise & fall like some nice garbage man
& I could feel your pancreas rise & fall like a crippled garbage man
& I could feel your pancreas rise & fall like a princely garbage man
& I could feel your pancreas rise & fall like a loveless garbage man
You moaned like general George Washington a lot I guess when he
dazzled old bald John Adams in Martha's 1st term, first lady's dress
Terrence Polcari Jun 2019
If you perchance to look into the Abyss
                         Just remember—the Abyss also looks into you . . . ”
                                             – Friedrich Nietzche

I dared presume to reach the depths
Of Purest Pure Thought
To touch God . . .

Down through layers of consciousness deeply I dove—
And deeper still

Until I reached the critical junction of Fathomless Deep Awareness
Where the strobing slashes of light and dark
Became One Hellish Grey Maelstrom
Of Maddeningly Sheer Chaos

The Pearlescence of my identity all but squashed . . .

I beheld the cosmic linchpin of Balanced Pandemonium
Beautifully Resplendent and Repellently Frightful—

Wellspring of The All

It became as mental blows
Pounding lustrous images of Divine Oneness
Into my being . . .
I was connected into the foundation of All
And it terrified me beyond repulsion—
I could bare the Allness Beauty
Of Swirling Hideous Nothing/Something
But an instant only

Aft I desperately swam
Rearward through tiers of awareness
Voraciously upward back into reality
Shaking in raw Astonishment—
Tear-eyed disbelief

And pure Horror . . .
Acute adenoidal hypertrophy cannot be of bees, slim tactics, tokens
shaved of serrations, nor chroma key screens of greenish adorations
that steer saints to tomes prizing kingly privilege from high stations
where-from hangers-on & thin mistresses sally forth lezzy relations
in sight of cruel Niger beauties flowering in ******* miscegenations
with Comancheria's Comanches who burn from demon usurpations
flowin' rearward to proto-Comanchee versus Shoshonee retaliations
that form habits that contribute to jammed ***** for gay Caucasians
in clinics for handsome Mexicans of Africani-gendered persuasions
I sliced my right hand heel on a soup can causin' deep abrasions the morning of Wednesday, 15 March 2017, sparin' my ****, grey shins
I order dad, on days that I can't stop dancing classically-gay dances,
to call 911 for a couple of lace-pink San Francisco Bay ambulances
that'll save my career as Elton John takes A.I.D.S. ***** up the rear
firing Elton's rearward pain shootin,' not countin' bi-Wayne Newton
poetryaccident Oct 2018
I stood to view the forest’s cloak
residing over the meager scratch
a passage forced upon the world
sharing landscapes of my trek

two tracks led through the woods
on the edge of fog’s domain
bordered by ranks of trees
witness to passage’s sway

leading forward beyond the curve
matching rearward to fade away
here in the moment the matching ruts
assure comfort from history

the promise of exit’s grace
implied by furrows marring earth
green removed by wheel’s tread
echo transport of the past

what came before may repeat
assurance given by the fray
impressed upon the fateful earth
direction stated by my sight

a journey paused may resume
by the bounty of this road
skirting wilds where nature rules
I’ll find my way by the grooves.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181024.
The poem “Passage Forced” was prompted by a photo credited to Svenja Wunderlich.   Sometimes journeys lead through wild places.  These are both temporary way-points and the destination of the moment.
Fall weirdly in love with weirdos! — Learn to knit with a hatchet. — Pick a nose that smells. — Become a young man of action! —  Grin and bear it. — Skin a ferret. — Waste time conversing with a parrot. — Sleep with women of merit. — Forge Granny's will to insure what you'll inherit. — Hide her gold so as not to share it. —   Jack up Hawaii to Lord over Jim Garrett (as he's got the disposition of an unnixtamalized pellagran). — These brownish titters of this chubby lass balance the front and are protectorates of rearward portions or hind quarters. — Future Gramps violate Granny! — Futuramic cramps double me up.
I picked a pitch fork with a tinny tooth & a rearward claw in mortar
as blue ***** bitties suckle each other crawlin' across Trump's border
Woeful men ******* & drip drop a mal-menopause panoramical
whilst dancing atop Old Smokey through bluish goo, they lose their
new Zion ****** for Jew review by urologistical doctor Henry Woo
who farts up-wind when reamed marines ***-**** by, proud & few
on days when the ****** longin' of my twisted/torted chin shot blue
across the vague expanse of women whose lesbian antics timesed 2
when no nobodies was power-liftin' red skirts in Hindu Kathmandu
John Winston Ono Lennon was pimpled upon the rearward apex of
Yoko's keratin cyst, that grew contra-clockwise to her left *** wrist

— The End —