Oddly enough, there are absolutely no rats in this desert. That's just a trick made up by the Bush administration to propagandise the war. I'm being serious. And I don't see how 'wanting someone to humor him with objections' is something particularly desert-rat-like. Or zodiaclike, for that matter.

Either deliberately or unconsciously, you've taken Byron's superfamous line, 'She walks in beauty, like the night' and replaced like every other word. I'm sorry, that's just how it seems to me. It's almost impossible that anyone could invented the phrase 'She [verb] in beauty, [preposition] the night' independently. And besides, having presumably passed 9th grade, you have to have read the poem. That makes it your responsibility to come up with something that doesn't make people think, 'this is just like Byron's poem, only worse.'

There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked. They shall seek peace, and there shall be none. All his days are sorrows, and his travail grief. I am full of confusion. Isa. 48 22 Ezek.7 25 Eccl. 2 23 Job 10 15 I bless you with a -10-

That's not at all what I mean. Academically, it is plagiarism. The part about simply trying to upset rankers has never been true. Anyway if would be stupid to try, since poemranker users are amazing at not getting upset even over the most rabid cockbattings. I think this is because they're all poets and therefore masochists. And they can justify pretty much anything by saying things like 'he just likes to get people rawled up'. My intention, as always, is always only to point out mistakes. And I've had a change of heart on top of that. QED.

I'm not at all sure that's true. PS-The part about not having emotion hurts. So, for that matter, does lacking the ability to shit more than once a week, and then only pathetic little rabbit turds. You Americans don't know how lucky you are to shit twice, thrice even, daily.

In all honesty, I've become very curious lately about how this poem does work, if it does in fact work. It seems pretty obvious to me that since for God death is probably pretty meaningless, he'd have no problem killing a bunch of things, or even a bunch of things at once. It would only seem calamitous to humans and some animals, who aren't sure if there's anything after death. To use your image, since God knows the bow'l's only going to be recreated and better (ie, perfectly nude), either instantly or after the Final Trumping, what's it to him if he breaks it. But the bow'l probably thinks, Oh fuck! Why??!?!? PS-Would you greatly mind making your punctuation consistent?

If I'd a doubt left 'bout the young poet's gender Luzr's comment above would soon end her. Like a dog, he's so fast To get his nose up her ass, That I'm a little bit frightened he'll rend her.

Thank-you!

Interesting...you show the same lack of awareness of the distinction between the adverbial and adjectival forms of words in your comments as you do in your pomes. Missing that part of your brain, perchance?

BTW: here is your clumsy attempt rewritten in actual limerick form; just so you know how it's done for future battles: I know it may come as a shock To one who assumes gender ad hoc Is this retort better? Has it gotten you wetter? I'm a chick, so guess what -- I've no cock!

Your reply's an unneeded adjunct And you fail my aspersion to punt: Though the pronoun was wrong You've no need for a dong There's protrusion enough in a cunt.

All the more reason for it to work. Minus emotion, you get thought, and thought more often than not, Invokes emotion. <3 Jason

Nah, You'd have to know James to understand. <3 Jason

*Bows*

and i titled it 'depth of illusion' because if they say a picture is worth a thousand words, then a painting must be worth a million.