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The Poemranker Poe-lease (Free verse) by Jeremi B. Handrinos
For thirteen cents and a pint of lotion Rockmage will donn his ass mask & his devotion And gallop all about the baby blue ranker With no teeth and a shirt that says "I'm no Wanker". He'll kiss your ass and shine your lap snorkel With reversing opinions on everything (Kitsch) But rest assured he got the okay from LT. Porkel (That uninteresting oversexed bitch) He told me he loved me, and so did she. But I'm not one to return calls. And now they're both mad, and hatin' on me. (Come on Dawgs I'm a beggin' p'ease?) For not showing them my porcelain balls And tagging on their swiney stalls And my sweat poor poems have been pummeled and spanked to the floor. And when all's said and done, I'll wear the nigger'd wings of Yor! And a G-string that part times as an editor at NFG magazine. A place where the poets all smear vasoline upon their Latin(a) trampolines that they rented from an old lady with favre beans and a fat fucking cow that could milk itself a Tribunal. Weekend poets! They rock and roll. In small ellipses, they know it all. Just read their poetry, and you will see Every cliche under hot sun and calm sea, but what the fuck, it's never mattered. and now my life's work has been scattered. And battered like a housewife named Beth who's husband is Southern, and High on Meth. All nude, and shivering, I beg for sardines. Burned at the steak, sauced by the ranker Poe-lease. So learn from me children because you too they will ask. To rank their poems 10's! And earn your ass mask. Thank you that is all, Vote Christian, vote true, just don't let what they did to me happen to you. Conform, and submit your poetry today! God will love you more, and you will say. "Poemranker is a place where even the worst poets can get their fifteen minutes of Spammy." Oh Mammy, Mammy, Mammy... Thank you, vote for Nentwined, he' a great poet, and we should appreciate being here, I do, and so should you, now let's give it up. Come on that means you too! Stand up, and pat yourselves on the back! You weekend poets, you part time artists. Treat yourselves! By a fucking chipped mug and hat from the alms shop today! Support your local gun fighters. Has anyone seen my assorted party lighters? They come with edible gasoline and a bag of dead tupperware for all nighters.

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