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Paris 1941-63 (Free verse) by Mister Cakes warm, comfort wool only for me,
looking after my interests,
only empty when you are alone.
you are my sock
Up the ladder:
Nectar of Infinity
Down the ladder:
Goliath
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 7.875
Posted: February 7, 2005 3:35 PM PST; Last modified: February 7, 2005 3:35 PM PSTWeighted score: 5.7732067 Overall Rank: 1747 Comments:
[6]
MacFrantic @ 205.188.116.67
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7-Feb-05/7:29 PM
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Reply
it seems that you put about 2 seconds of thought into your poems. And that is not a compliment. *6*
I'm not sure about the reference to the time period, but I think socks have sentimental value for poets.
"Got more soul than a sock with a hole." Doom.
He spent 22 years in a sock?
Champs-Elysées with some French dude named Jacques? Unless "sock" is a metaphor, For the crucial part of a whore -- In which case Mister Cakes is a cock.
Masterpiece.
A shoe-in for a poetry prize.
Top bombing.
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