Gunpowder Experiments I spend the nights in her suit and tie, just working on my tan It’s easy now that I’m in house arrest, I ain't got nothin’ else to do I'd like some time for myself in bed, to run around screaming in complete silence, and for someone else to be there, to share in their own contentment I don’t know what the opposite of dynamite is, even though I know about implosions I’m trying to reinvent gunpowder, but keep comin’ up with the wheel I saw myself the other day, walkin’ down the street, and he thought to himself: "What kind of loser walks down a street?" Or up a street, for that matter? Who even does that anymore? That’s certainly not in my wheelhouse I could use a wheelhouse, by the way, I've got a lot of wheels lyin’ ‘round, from my gunpowder experiments
I'm infected with love. It's oozing from my pores, popping out of pustules, exploding from my nose as I sneeze my disease of love, sickening, gushy love, all over your face. You're welcome.
Thank you, my puppy you spared my hair No creature, no man, no dog shall go there beware my hair in your underwear put it over there in the ashtray smouldering mmm. mmm, second stanza smouldering
Ode to the Load That Rose For You Ode to the load You helped me grow Ode to the load You'd never know Ode to the load That rose for you I think about you So this is my ode
You Liked My Post Alert of a like I am so witty I am so bright Albert Einstein Whenever I write Wait You liked her post too And his And everybody else's In fact the only posts you didn't like Were your own You didn't like my post You just liked your thread
The Sun moves across the sky Like a Sun Waterfalls Butterfly wings Everything is big or small You may have noticed This poem doesn't rhyme And the lines End In weird places It I Feelings Smoky, ashy grey Stony, icy grey A bit more grey Grey Brown Black Like a soul hidden from the Sun Sweat running Rivulets Raindrops Cloudy sky No Sun Fried chicken This poem has no title because I am an artiste and I do not need titles. I will confess this was inspired by a poem at the critique group I just joined. I hope this places you in a similar state of complete incomprehension.
Take a word, Nerd Not that word. This word, stupid Nerd! Now, Nerd, take this word. Put it with those other fuckin words! I fuckin hate workin with words and goddam nerds! Now, take this poem and shove it up my ass, so it can be all that it can be, in the can.
in all the meanings of the words there is not a worst call then a cynical fall it is visual and appall it's best to stay small
Walking on the Moon Boom Grafting in the mind Wine Running obelisk This is what it is Belated horse Go go go !!
Hey, skunk. Don't be a punk. Throw out that junk you have in the trunk before the monk sees the chunk of funk your friend the chipmunk put there till it stunk, you drunk hunk of a skunk.
See the stars As we walk on Mars Approach your life with fire Since you, both can't handle your admirer Seek your destiny, as we all know well Although think twice, since Satan will see you in hell.
If we dug William Shakespeare from the ground, And set his jangling bones upon his chair And posed amongst his dexter phalanges The quill of a goose, besotted with ink, And commanded him, "You genius, time to write! There's suitable material named Trump Who occupies our Presidential house. Here are newspapers; read them and go nuts!" He'd croak, "You goddamned fools! Look at me! I died in sixteen sixteen! Your godforsaken country didn't even exist yet!"
Spoiler My cover of a cover. Sweet dreams are made of tits Who am I to disagree Travel the world And spread them knees Everybody's Fucking something Some of them want to Screw you Some of them want to Be screwed by you (Guitar solo)
The times I've fucked up Almost got locked up When I stocked up My weed Why I seek it Maybe I just need it Or any day I can quit Yeah
