Tres evil. What happened to Biff-chin?

When I read your title, I went "Oh God". When I read your poem, I went "Oh God", and farted. But it was then when you told the story "through the thunder" was right about the time that I realized... We've made love in our past life... If not several hundred times. Like the incessant rain pounding the dusty gravel of the high desert. Bringing the dry river beds to a seething surge of brown flood water with swimming animals and drunk people standing on the hoods of their cars.

Whether its an actual poem or part of a novel your working on- its written in a way which makes it more than just a narrative dialog; at the least its very good prose. What makes it enjoyable for me is the suggestion of pantheism and the theory that god is a manifestation of the mind- and that you depicted the humor that it could entail. I'd love to read this novel you're in the process of making; your style of writing and the subjects you explore fascinate me immensely.

I like it- my only problem with it is the use of "thronging", which doesn't sound right.. perhaps "enough to shake you awake, call it quits, step out of the house into the [crowded darkness] (or) [tense {or hectic} dark]" Or something, because "throng" is a verb; def: press tightly together or cram- which makes little sense, so I don't have a clue what you intented to express with its use. I could be babbling foolishly, but an explaination would be nice. Blessed with nine.

Oh, another thing which I failed to mention earlier: Its not really much of a pimple.. other than the subject having a romantic context, it is devoid of mis-spelling, trite rhyme schemes, poor use of language, crude humor, and other characteristics usually found in most pimple poems. It's pretty much a very decent free verse poem, atleast to me.

Its looks like a theraputic journal entry. Could have used these title(s) instead: "A patients written letter of grievance to his therapist" (or: 'infantile contempt for ones salaried shrink')

I saw a cat burying a leroy at sanbox once, thankfully the boys father was a miner.

and life goes on...with it's lessons we have to learn! This must have been hard to write because maybe it speaks about your experiences(I really don't know) but in between the lines are lessons that youth must learn from... Hey yougters out there, read this and learn. You're great!...peace!

Oh my God...can you read this to me in my bedtime...one of those poems that realy awaken the my innerchild. Love it

It's melancholic and padded- over all it has little to offer (to me atleast). It's also redundant and doesn't evolve into a work of real subtance. No offense, its just my take on it. Blessed with five.

So you've got a publishing contract? I pray to Jesu that they give you a good editor to rewrite your ignorantly written tosh. You punctuate about as well as SupremeDreamer and Blindpoetry. Buy a grammar book and read it, you fucktard. I have tried my best to edit your "Emily Mae" mess into some sort of shape, but the work is far from done. What else can a young mother say? I wake up at night hearing you. And-- I love and miss you dear Emily Mae. Minutes turn to hours and hours to days As no one but you can take my hand. What else can a young mother say? When we put you to ground, the display Alone sent me into this no man's land. I love and miss you dear Emily Mae. I buried my heart there to keep you at play, In the field where the grey stones stand. What else can a young mother say? To those who we had who went away? I want you to know I'm glad you weren't planned. And I love and I miss you Emily Mae. One day soon with you too I will stay By your grave as a mother and friend. What else can a young mother say? But I love and miss you my Emily Mae. That irons out a few wrinkles; it doesn't stop it from being the most sentimental, embarassingly heart-rending, bathetic pile of shit in the world ever. Thanks. -10-

My girl died of causes venereal, / (Well, let's say the disease wasn't aerial!) / If you don't mind infection, / I've let out her rectum / To pay for a good Christian burial. /

man my girlfriends like such a big ho / so i killed her (feel bad for it, though!) / yeah it banged up her flesh, / but the body's still fresh - / if you're tempted, do give 'er a go! /

As he works up his lit'r'y extrusions, Nick poeticisms all but a few shuns. But his substandard rank Is proof those who would wank Should stick to their real life protrusions.

Inconceivably shit.

well written, reads smoothly

Plenty of stuff to grab the attention. I would say however that many defenceless animals are very ugly and make unpleasant sounds, why weren't they mentioned?

last 4 lines are hard to read, the rest is fine. Certainly a classier poem about poetry.

The best part of this is when I misread heart as beast '[after I put] my beast into you'

Other - because it is more a sketch than a poem