"towing" poems
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind
Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels
In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface
Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light
Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain
What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?
Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions
Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
Speaking of how
these Ladies of the Night
must hate Daylight Savings Time
since the sun doesn’t set until nine, and
the cloying summer scent of honeysuckle
drowns the smell of their knock-off Gucci Guilty.
Except there’s that one A.M. Pro
who works the whole stretch in front of
The Towing and Recovery Museum
from 7 something till lunch.
She’s tried to keep a low profile, but
is hoping to meet that one lonesome soul
who needs to get blown
at ten o’clock in the ******* morning.
Sometimes I wave at her when I drive by,
wishing her the best,
whatever that may look like...
The fasten seatbelt warning light is flashing on my dashboard but
I’m buckled in, rest assured.
That’s probably important, but
it’s like what Don Q whispered to Sancho through the Spanish gloom:
“I need you.”
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Internal monologue,
to self, a note:
prose and poetry
I wrote
to what I loathe,
every word I chose
a potent seed of
grief I sowed.
Sturdy oak's
branches, limbs,
and stoic bones
turning into woes of
a weeping willow's roots
overgrown and exposed.
Grain of timber groans,
bends and bows
in billowing wind blown;
a coat of leaves
in ribbons, clothes,
cloaking grove and
hanging rope below;
around my neck,
coiled and closed,
asphyxiating, chokes.
Ungasping,
thrashing throes,
no breath can flow,
slowly losing hope;
devoted to
an unspoken oath,
towing this
floating ghost and
shadow of an ego
dangling alone
on threadbare throne,
only home
I've ever known.
So what, to this world,
do i still owe
and why can't I
just
let
go?
Feb 9, 2024
Feb 9, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
New flesh
nudist art next to a pretty dress
as a naked eye sees want it wants to see
A little of an unexplored world in between
—ironically a queen on her knees
A flowing river; centre tongue licking drips
of a honey cup
Tip toeing sounds, silently in their subtle
under the secret sheets towing the sky
A mist for night; a mister of the charges
—who leads who
Being lonely for two, been through a
misconception of missing you
So I just sit, waiting in this empty room
Dec 11, 2022
Dec 11, 2022 at 5:10 PM UTC
People walk on by and only glance in my direction
unaware that I am suffering from a deep rooted infection.
For don't you see that I'm painfully dying
and in the future you'll know that I could've been saved,
all it took was a simple moment of trying
and to hear the things that I always craved.
They tell you a drowning man will drag you down
but I've always been a strong swimmer,
we can easily take on another pound
just focus on the waves surfing glimmer.
Keep going, keep rowing,
don't inhale that salty sea.
The wind's blowing, exhaustion is showing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.
People walk on by and only glance in my direction
they aren't the slightest bit shocked at my self inflicted dissection.
For I desperately need to remove my organs of rot,
these days feeling just takes too much of a toll on me,
and they're so badly damaged that no customer has bought,
even when I offered them up for free.
They tell you a drowning man will drag you under
but I've always been gifted with a swift stroke,
how I made it out this far truly is a wonder,
or maybe just another sad tasteless joke.
Keep going, keep towing,
don't you give up so easily.
The wind's blowing, pace is slowing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.
So call me Ismael 'cause I'm lost at sea,
was caught up in a current very swiftly,
and my white whale has lost all interest in me,
I guess there's some other place it would rather be,
than stuck in my sad excuse for company.
Do I glimpse land's salvation or am I just succumbing to insanity?
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC
Arms that rested on her wide hips
I miss her 'grape-ulent' lips
How onto me she tightly clung
While my harmonic mp3s sung
The walk by nature's green
Moments we dared to dream
She sung alongside Dido
Oh gosh, the "Darling" title
How occupied she kept us
Cut my wings,back down to earth
For all that's happened was worth
I miss placing my arms on her ***
And towing her close to my body
I miss her soft grip on my "daddy "
The look in her eyes when in control
I miss ******* her glorous beach umbrellas
How she ardently put off the lights
I miss the many long and busy nights
Freezing and so I miss her furry furnace
I miss the soft moans of pleasure
She was an undisputed treasure
I long to drink again from her chalice
I miss the tear filled hazels of lust
Thighs like tectonic plates in Earth's crust
I miss being trapped by those stalactites
Her harmless but arousing love bites
I miss having her thrilling ride
My body would yield and abide
Her little laugh when things got real hot
My rock hard cable in her USB port
I miss the warm cool of her wetness
The milking machine greatness
I miss how whispers talked
Till late after we'd ******
I miss diving alength
I miss losing strength
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie
Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda
Cate ran late on her first date
Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly
Edwina drove to the town of Catalina
Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan
Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen
Hope bought her husband a towing rope
Isobel fell under the magician's spell
Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan
Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie
Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley
Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia
Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell
Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga
Primrose had a Pinocchio nose
Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie
Ruth could never tell the whole truth
Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey
Tilly behavior was always rather silly
Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna
Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity
Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred
Xena was presented with a court subpoena
Yale told her teacher a tall tale
Zealand ventured out into the bushland
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
A broken down Chevy-
Doesn’t that sound like a country song?
My broken down Chevy
Is where my life started and I began to belong.
That little pickup stayed true to its name.
It could pick up and take me anywhere,
Or we could park in a field and I could write,
To me it was all the same.
Being behind its leather wheel
Was a freedom I’ll forever cherish.
Eighteen with nowhere to be
Except driving my Chevy, every joy I could feel.
When I lost my job
I gained an eviction.
But I still had my Chevy
And I had its bed to sleep in.
There was no work in my small town.
I knew I had to leave,
Just my Chevy and me.
We traveled for days to the biggest city we found.
By the time we arrived
My Chevy had begun to sputter,
It shook, it moaned, it stopped.
And there on the highway, my Chevy died.
I knew this day would come-
My Chevy was a ’57.
But it carried me hundreds of miles
To the city in which my new life had begun.
A broken down Chevy-
Doesn’t that sound like a country song?
My broken down Chevy
Is where my life started and I began to belong.
I left it there on the highway.
With no job and only pocket change
I couldn’t keep my beloved Chevy
By towing it anyway.
Now I’m twenty-five
And the head of a publishing company.
I married an artist who always supported me.
Today he waited at home with a surprise.
My broken down Chevy,
Fully restored and brought back to life,
Was in the driveway
With a note taped to the window with the key.
“I believe this is yours
And may I say she’s beautiful!
I found your Chevy on the side of the highway.
Gosh I think it’s been six or seven years!”
“My father was always handy with cars
And he taught me his trade.
I towed your Chevy and meant to sell it
Once I had fixed it up to shine like stars.”
“As I was cleaning the compartments out
I found your old journal
Full of letters you wrote to yourself
And bible verses, all about perseverance, no doubt.”
“Your story inspired me.
It honestly rocked me to my core.
I had lost all hope in myself and the world.
I was fighting cancer, you see.”
“I read your journal every day, every page.
And the more I read, the more I believed
In those verses you treasured so.
I continued restoring your truck, and last year I got saved.”
“My cancer was gone, seemingly overnight.
The doctors couldn’t believe it!
And honestly
Neither could I!”
“I thank God every day
For the story He gave you,
And I thank Him
Because you broke down on that highway.”
“Now I’m returning this Chevy to you.
She shines like a diamond and runs like a river.
I hope you can forgive me but I am keeping your journal-
My granddaughter is fighting cancer now too.”
“Please pray for her and I’ll keep you in my prayers always.
Thank you for being the person you are.
Goodbye and thank you again, my friend.
Like your broken down Chevy,
We’ve been made new; we’re eternally saved!”
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
Sometimes all I can think of is the sinkhole that I learned about in 8th grade.
It destroyed an entire lake and swallowed all of the fish, rocks and even boats on the water.
The thought of it fascinated me.
Until I realized;
There’s a sinkhole inside of me.
It ***** up everything that makes me happy, towing it into the underwater oblivion.
And soon enough, the only thing that’s will be left will mud.
And the demons that cling to my soul like an anchor.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
I’m hanging up my dungarees,
And doing so for good,
The video game cover art doesn’t
Acknowledge me like it should,
My brother gets his name in lights,
While I do half the work,
All the sibling rivalry,
Is driving me berserk,
I can beat the Koopa Troopas
And stomp on Bowser too,
But I only see the light of day
If there’s a player two,
And they’re rarely ever any good,
I never reach the bosses,
It’s always game over screens
And endless 1-up losses,
So I’m hanging up my dungarees,
For the final time,
I won’t go saving Peach tomorrow,
I’ll start towing my own line,
There’s no Goombas and Koopas,
Out there that I’m needed to startle
And for some reason, it’s always your princess,
Not mine, who’s in another castle.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Alarm clock dead, power's out
What've I got to shout about?
Running late, we're behind
It's things like this make me lose my mind
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Notes written, Kids set to go
Open the fridge, and boom...power goes
It's never ending, all frustrating
The problems are just resonating
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Kids dropped off, on the road
When suddenly another load
Of troubles makes my day
It makes me want to say
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Tire's flat, that's not new
What's a guy supposed to do?
I smile and call for towing
My temper now is showing
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Get in late, that's a given
Boss says "Turner, you're not driven"
"Success comes hard, it isn't easy"
That's when I get really queasy
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Not worth fighting, got a meeting
Meanwhile I am overheating
All I know is that I try
And days like this just make me cry
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Work the day out, heading home
Knowing I am not alone
Millions more go through this too
What's a guy supposed to do?
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Ads are fake, and it's all phony
As I sit watching on my Sony
But one day it'd be really nice
To have that life, and glacier ice
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Really, Why can't life be a beer ad?
Just one little, stinking ****** beer ad...For Me?
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
Sometimes all I can think of is the sinkhole that I learned about in 8th grade.
It destroyed an entire lake and swallowing all of the fish, rocks and even boats on the water.
The thought of it fascinated me.
Until I realized;
There’s a sinkhole inside of me.
It ***** up everything that makes me happy, towing it into the underwater oblivion.
And soon enough, the only thing that’s will be left will mud.
And the demons that cling to my soul like an anchor.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
Pearl earrings. They came
in a red box with gold lettering
I unwrapped in the
restaurant parking lot
on a humid evening before
my college graduation
where we milled around,
waiting for our table.
My father's gift.
One year later, in the same place,
I put them on;
my father walked me down the aisle
to marry a good man.
Wrapped in a princess dress.
Towing a six-foot train.
My mother's dream.
They stayed in my jewelry box
for one decade plus five.
Years while I played
hide and seek with depressions
and wondered who that person
in the mirror was.
My straight persona.
When I think of that now
I remember--
pearls are made of pain.
The substance the oyster makes
to coat the grit, or
whatever makes its way
into the shell.
The process transforming
the ugly, raw, pain
into the lustre of something
priceless.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
clay-baked women beat their clothes
clean on river rocks at dawn
cook rice and dal on an open
communal hearth
beneath a natural lantern
of Indian stars
for 20 rupees a day, roughly
half a buck
I have seen men and women tie
rags to cushion their heads
towing heavy mortar
for new construction
yet there is always a
brotherly smile gleaming
and sisterly hands eager to share
what meager provisions earned
these are no feeble folk
no fashion slaves or mere mortals
melodious bhajans mingle with
the sweat from their brows
and mantras, leelas of God
echo through the
Taj Mahal temples of their hearts
I raise my bhakti glass to the
backbone of India
Her kundalini rising
innocent, humble
village peasantry
true priests
gopikas and gopalas
who actually live
the Vedic life
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Last call, last shout
Last drop till the last drought
We had our chance
And we're all still blowing it
Here's the line
Who will start towing it?
Sink or swim
It's time to start rowing it
We're all standing on
Broad shoulders of greed
We all grew up dependent
on disposable sneeds
Woven from the tufts
of the Redwood trees
But it's not our fault,
It wasn't you and me
It was some old grandstander
That we'll never see
Right...?
Well... Yes and no
And it only goes to show
That this house built of windows
Can't stand one more stones throw
So do we quit our jobs and stop driving?
**** I don't know...
We're past the point of blame
It's not all just a game
The more years you've got
The more hot you'll trot
Believe it or not...
So here's to the treaties!
Lower emissions and make it speedy!
**** all the billionaires,
Let's take care of the needy!
Too much to ask?
They never said it'd be easy.
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 1:15 AM UTC
*Commanding the 'Crows Nest' in search of submarines on Panama City Beach
Our curiosity in real time demand , blanket oceanside Admiralty
Mariners were towing the ocean yachts into portland that day
Tales of Neptune , ambergris , running *** and rough sail
Riding the easterlies , filling our shell pails
A prize for gifted imaginations indeed , sand dollars and -
cirrus clouds above the warm turquoise Sea* .....
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
I was strolling down the aisle
We were shopping there in style
With my daughter sitting smiling in the cart,
I was stretching out my hand
For the Martinelli's brand
When the apple of my eye gave me a start.
With the bottle in my grasp
I saw, coming toward us fast,
A high heeled damsel, scarfed and towing her caddie
And she smirked as I, condemned,
Stood up to comprehend
The reason, as my child said "Whisky Daddy?"
There was nothing I could say,
To make it seem another way,
To vanquish the conviction so compelling
It was the color you could tell
And the shape she knew so well,
The question that my daughter asked was telling.
Neil Stewart McLeod
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
~
gold-encrusted jewels dance
on sun-drenched ocean stacks,
his rugged rocks etched deep
by her waves from far beneath,
and Pacific’s gusty breath;
his wind-swept islets burn,
aflame in sunset's dying embers,
like a lover's siren call.
his chiseled keyholes waiting
for the ciphered piercing rays
to collide in rushing tidal spray.
unlocking sunset's golden hour...
surging forth then quickly fades,
as sunbeam fingers slowly slip,
beneath horizon's sultry lip;
dusk unfolds in magic hues,
molten rose turns scarlet blues,
night descends as one by one,
we raptured star-kissed lovers
disembark this ferris wheel;
the curtain falls again,
with sea and rocks
rehearsing lines
to play again another day.
this their theatre
of the night,
performed by two alone,
beneath the moon
and starry sky.
~
*post script.
our last time through in 2004 was a blur on our way through to San Diego, an exhilarating ride for certain, with all of its bends and curves experienced top down in a convertible, but hardly doing justice to Big Sur’s stunning scene in mere hours; we told ourselves we simply had to return.
it took eleven years, and this time we spent a full five days and nights along Highway 1, towing a camper and slow-driving south from Monterrey all the curves to Morro Bay, exploring just about every hike and lookout in between; and in so doing, validating our return in a most satisfying way. Big Sur is officially off our bucket list! her sunsets were particularly rewarding, especially two... one enjoyed at sea level, from the sand and keyholes at Pfeiffer Beach day use area, the other delighted us from high above the ocean waves, seated at the picnic table of our cliff-side camp site at Kirk Creek Campground.
a most refreshing time to recuperate and recharge our spirits; five glorious days of disconnection, reconnecting to nature, each other and best of all, life at the speed of sunsets and star gazing; evenings spent round the campfire with no cell, no i-pad, no laptop, only the light of the fire, the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes!*
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
Of place we'd been and things we had seen
Memories of a snowy day and a big white dog towing a sled
The sand dunes in the pine woods
When shreaks of joy rang forth
As we hurtled down the those slopes
Then came the saddest day when we said our last goodbyes
To that old white teddybear dog
Trips round Yorkshires lovely hills
Of you in a seat on the back of my bike
And the long haired highland cattle in Bedale park
A photograph I still posses of you sat by Richmond castle
A thousand memories remain
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
We buy them in colors we like
Because we drive them for years.
My black pickup is shadowy and morose,
But decidedly so - and I am unashamed.
A few are Marlboro Red, Canary Yellow,
Lake Placid Blue, and Classic White.
Some built for speed, or for comfort.
Some built for utility, or for economy.
Most are silver.
They make up a buzzing hive of polite,
Tame, courteous, ordinary, bland worker-bees
Who would never pass out on their neighbors' lawn,
and who would defend her majesty, Queen Normalcy,
With unmatched ferocity.
They seat five to seven people,
With plenty of room in the trunk for the American Dream.
Mine is black, old and faded,
But decidedly so - and I am unashamed;
With only enough room in the cab
For one other person,
And its towing capacity is the mass of the observable Universe.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
Mothers smoking ***** from a bamboo pipe in the morning.
She peels bananas for breakfast with her hands that are never clean.
Father died in a rich mans mine.
Mother has found an Uncle to beat her on the weekends when the Wine runs out.
Uncle make sister touch his monster in the mornings.
The speakers of His word bring salvation and sugar cane husks for the children after class.
All the parents miss the sermon and drink early morning wine on a sunday.
In the cities and the suburbs girls chose the guys who can buy them jewels and give them children.
Security is what matters who cares how you feel.
A thousand smiles smile back as she holds the sparkling stone high for everyone to admire.
He felt safer with his sister towing buckets in the mine.
His Uncle didn't like it but the money bought more drink.
They always needed children to venture deeper in the Earth.
Slender hands and small bodies pulling Diamonds from the mines .
She secretly admired the promise on her finger as he pounded away on her ripe smelling flesh.
It takes a special kind of someone to fake it all for Gems .
Men so lonely they convince themselves it's Love ,when they really know it's Diamonds.
There's something about stones that take lifetimes to form .
A Gem so strong only the hands of a child can set them free.
What a symbol for promise ,for Love and forever.
A stone pulled from the Earth by way of child labor and sometimes child blood.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
Mumble Rappers be on something like:
"gotta bad b...she ain't be walking righ°..."
Double-dipping,
No-stopping
Frames-dropping,
No-clipping,
wutta glitchy sight ..
I've been sitting super stealthy cypher.
I've been running with my do-or-die fir.
[Careful]
I would die for what
What you would eye for
Cloudy with the red eye
Insight, eyesore
I swore, pops, that I'd be different
Spec ops man, Mine's been misting
Foggy froggy frothing
when I spit distance
3eyes shifting
2Split da difference
Any1 asking Meh:
How have I been getting....?
Guru Minds have been sitting
squarely as a cube in cypher
Make mah breathes for human
CubanS matter as I decypher :
Life is living truth
or daring to choose to live
or die for ...
Ai just a silly Scyth0r snipping sidebar sowings
stow no baggage. That's what I'd be towing.
Rats staining, stinging
pocked and potent.
Out of the Cabbage patch
that I've been growing
01011011 01111101 01111011 00101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01010000 01110010 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01100011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00101100 00001010 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100010 01101111 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01111101 01111011 01011101
Sorry to be blunt, man
.... it's a sour twist,
Undid the trap mode
went too lavish
>> the-Gentle-Ghost-o'-ghetto
hopes at most to let go,
Building out hell bricks
Pave- too -close -to -level<<
it's all in the mental,
in the same lane stack
Shake a Lil when treble trains track,
Shake, shake when the train track,
shake shake, shake when it trains
shake when the trains track.
I swear, it's not a bad tick.
Just bring the brains back.
It's not a bad tick. Just get the brains back
it's not a bad tick. The brains back~
just bring the brains back
bring the brains back
Bear with me. >>Music turned up.
Are the windows cracked?<<
..............Who should have brought the show...vel? And the WAXWHALESTACK.....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Dec 9, 2023
Dec 9, 2023 at 12:28 PM UTC
Oh Glenda (Miz Gee gee)
years elapsed since, I didst hawk
verboten fruit adrip
from yar verdant bough,
thy strong craven raven
doth still twitter and flip
sans thy testosterone switch,
where woody pecker missus grip
ping re: egret ting prospective
relationship nixed thee
as gull friend material, hip
mistress, though heron eye did pay lip
service verily orgasmically quip
yes...wren doer ring
more'n commit Freudian slip
which peeping cardinal tip
towing thru nested tulip trip
gave balled oriole peck whip
ping lil *** pistol be
friending chirping ***** riot
inserting thingmabob
after pants sigh did un zip.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Egg gad unlike rob bin duck cradle
yar mature red breast all aswirl
asper a stationary dreidel
mammary ducts mine mouth pursed
yar ******* mine gums did ladle.
Only in memory, aye
hungrily thirst and thirstily hunger
fort deux aureole dye
still affecting this gab
bird, who didst deign
as milquetoast guy.
Whenever this birdman alone
his thoughts metaphorically drone
worm wayward toward
***** thatch, where
hello kitty doth purr and groan
of quintessentially
***** coiled hair moan
ning softly as thee
bared naked lady lies prone
admiring pinkish puckered
def flesh tone.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC