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Black liqourice & G-stringed orphans (Free verse) by horus8
The Hamptons are my new muppet caper.
I have not been this steady since steady was a word
--applied to drunk horses on steriods.
Fix me I'm loose
Screw me counter clockwise, in tight.
It's a failed rotisserie spin.
a misunderstood chicken fat bin.
In downtown with
the black people
in line, so fine.
I tend to leak.
Give me more smack
my face isn't quite red enough.
Yet, also, if you could,
hold my hand, I'm lonely and bone slick.
Smaller than an ant.
Nothing is as important as my need to spread
passive aggressively, casually.
I'm off to the store for breath mints,
condoms, and chex mix.
Nothing written here has anything to do with sex.
It's really all about Astrology,
tuna, and tall Danish escorts.
The Bermuda triangle is slowly crawling up
--my Atlantian spine.
It's a jungle out there kid
you'd better double knot your shoes,
but the kid stays in the picture.
I'm hauling my boat full of bait out to the bay
--in Kimo's limo.
It's a full fledged assault on the industry.
Indignant, overwhelmed, underdogged, pimped.
"Tossing my lap snorkel", and just pining along.
Liza Minelli has been flipped on her belly.
(She's so David Gest friendly)
"Tie me up,Tie me down"
--appropriately fill the hollows with yellows.
Let me molt, snake boy, boy toy, toy train--
"Come on you fuck,
FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME
GIVE ME MORE.
DO IT HARDER.
I'M THE EVER PRESENT GARAGE SALE.
PINNED DOWN AND YEARNING FOR SCOTCH TAPE"
My muffin is so dry, but try, I try.
If Da Vinci could fly, I'd eat more Italian.
But instead I eat Snooker and lick the immature cherry.
Extension chord, Demon Horde.
Hard on for mother.
Tether-ball sex slaves.
Volley-ball ballet.
Happier than sliced fucking melons.
We are Cantilupers
On my knees I sneeze,
so that I can be swept under the refrigerator.
Like a wad of wet molding pubic hair
Mopping out the mop-closet.
I get inbetween her toes and floss it.
Roller skating into cleavage.
I'm designing posters for Fellini,
and holding up a new baby Mussolini.
Transfiguration for the Carpenter's wife
The cereal's Life..
Cuz I'm out to kill Captain Kangaroo.
He's a bored rich gay man.
Will you hold his fake-n-bake tan?
Check his prostate you republican fuck,
you three legged dog with a
Layne Staley habit.
Force Jerry Lewis back into the wilderness.
<Block Letters>
Anthrax 26567 return envelope.
March of dimes.
The devil made me do it
Do it to Bridget Bardot
Skull fucking Ross Perot
I'm out for blood and spoons.
I'm on the red eye baby slap happy sloppy crazy.
Walking with God and laying sod.
The wart hog stole the arm chair.
Snacks are best served from the hip.
God called me a breeder, so now I'm out for a cure.
Lumberjack Lenny has me tight by the arm.
I'm seduced by his Disneyland charm
--ace of spade knuckle sandwich's.
The hummm... Has us harder than Michigan apples
--in the hands of a Latina Rapunzel.
(A lame transvestite in a blonde wig w/bad accent)
The salt soft lapping of the Atlantic wakes me up.
Buried neck deep with the hightide approaching.
It's the original Creepshow.
but Jackie O didn't show,
and I am too dangerous to be trusted.
"For my friends"
Cuz in the end you keep your enemies in the same holsters.
Draw
Tombstone
Cupid
Stupid
The difference between old money,
and new money.
Pinero
Milk of Magnesium
X-acto
cut &
reaching in,
I find,
vagina.
Back to poem details
Anonymous | 85.211.243.33 | 0 | June 6, 2008 5:33 PM PDT |
Anonymous | 68.12.58.89 | 10 | December 27, 2007 9:42 PM PST |
Anonymous | 207.119.185.14 | 3 | August 29, 2007 4:50 PM PDT |
xxx | 68.164.242.151 | 0 | May 22, 2005 6:08 PM PDT |
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Jill Stockinger | 68.165.174.187 | 10 | November 18, 2003 11:16 AM PST |
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Anonymous | 64.12.96.237 | 10 | September 17, 2003 9:52 PM PDT |
Anonymous | 64.63.204.8 | 7 | September 1, 2003 11:47 AM PDT |
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Below lie old votes |
INTRANSIT | 205.188.208.102 | 7 | June 20, 2003 7:41 AM PDT |
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