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Baked Peach Cobbler Windowed (Free verse) by horus8
{1} <she left the kitchen> My uncle has gone into a poking frenzy Prodding me with the stealth of a big cat Wearing the red rubber pull back for a hat One dropper full at a time please. Leaning through my island swamp sunken on that green-covered throne, there sits before me someone who proves I am never alone, snagged, Just missing self control Clung claws spurring. {2} <without her apron> I declare a righteous appraisal, be it death execution-style, let me ask of you that single wish, wash my blood away with the decent styles of dial-up delivery. I guess you don't have to leave the room ever again Do you Fonzarelli? The linoleum back stroke was pure joke Snagglepuss exits stage left. {3} <It smelled so good> Cellular color transplanted through the obedient leaf Textured living fibers are the fur on this peach Tickling my nose. and when I sink in my teeth Cells begin to glow. Your cells are content when complimented by the great and secret brown pull Your best friend turtle left you in the back of a van after you shot up, first thing out of Chino, heatstroked you into the oblivion nod your toothbrush and letters in a paper bag next to you. {4} <I had to take it> I'm sorry you had to hear your mother, my grandmother, having sex at such a young age that you thought her screaming was out of fear and pain, not pleasure, but keep in mind you did grow up to steal her Cadillac about ten different times, plus you bullit holed the trunk over a sour deal. Sleepwalking was worth it again and again the eye lids right Uncle Don? last night you came to me in a dream and told me, to wake the fuck up, before it was to late, i did and tossed my spoon and rig optioning for the pie in the window instead.

Up the ladder: lost love
Down the ladder: Languageing

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Arithmetic Mean: 7.2222223
Weighted score: 6.111111
Overall Rank: 1100
Posted: September 18, 2002 4:24 PM PDT; Last modified: January 15, 2003 4:28 PM PST
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Comments:
[9] god'swife @ 209.179.134.108 | 18-Sep-02/10:18 PM | Reply
Ah the verbal gymnastics you put my neurons through. Personal trainer. Arsenal drainer. Rubber neck craner. Vegetable strainer. Confort zone maimer. Pinchi Cavrone.
[8] w~* ATHENA *~w @ 66.245.34.224 | 18-Sep-02/10:35 PM | Reply
lionoleum, slip of the lion's tongue, or a new floor covering?

good, something I can wrap myself up in and sleep under a new moon.

[7] Christof @ 195.172.133.226 | 19-Sep-02/3:01 AM | Reply
Uncles are rarely trustworthy. Keep your distance.
[5] Tintagiles @ 198.164.238.92 | 22-Oct-02/11:25 AM | Reply
At first, I read 'Prodding me with the big cat'. I like that image. Not that the rest is bad.
[n/a] horus8 @ 24.126.113.154 > Tintagiles | 22-Oct-02/12:13 PM | Reply
At first when i wrote it at nineteen, buckled down alone..in a brig in Virginia i wept a pen push for my dear uncle and my precariouus position..unable to say goodbye to the poor fool...he was quite a character and i was sorry to have been unable to see his eyes alive prior to that year. he died the same day he got out of chino..so i hadn't seen him since i was fifteen.
[9] Bill Z Bub @ 24.112.224.232 | 15-Jan-03/5:35 PM | Reply
Wow. Obscure, but ...brilliant? There is something here...You mad poet you 123456789strong.
[9] INTRANSIT @ 205.188.208.106 | 15-Jan-03/5:57 PM | Reply
Good for you Mr H. Nice and slow, take your time.
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