Now at the time of when whatnot is the mysterious ways about of what ceasts to the beasts of a Man’s own cave, being His “nest” so cradled and candle-lit to pass on that flamers camber of tire’s width and tilt of me having been so tall, in a decade ago, the Humatrope- I took, pinch, line, and hook of meandering mind-set on the bereft white batter up to the Paris Hilton and Guy Ritchie- he beat her up, so sad when one eye was blackened, the plot thickened, this when I have yet to receive my $315 Mont Blanc pen—and when—and how—mother cow of Holy “Molly” in the club scene, Paris in France with a Queen teen... “The Supreme Leader” wearing a leather banana cap to cover the received-then, whatta hair line of dancing with boots on, and to show-up the shoe-up then turned-up this song on Repeat I crave, me to a sexual slavered and enamored, “Google By Horses”:
Flag on a mast with what must see you again, now at last, the crass dialect of what Euphemisms say “Enlightened” traveled so far the edge of space—where God is—beyond the Big Bang!—been there and done that, I laughed, plunging her THERE in my bed of whereabouts the women I have known and loved—between the honey of small-talk and going for a doggie-walk with what I value friendship—the must of it—the moist and soil of the swish-swash in the shower at a late hour, to show her, I know her, yesss correct, one bigger boobie and one a teensy bit smaller, alas never evened out by a Ph. D. doctor of health and caring, all starting to be staring at that Euphoric “pass” to see it in a FLASH! of a camera’s shining light in a microsecond, and content with my never being bent or queer to steer in the clear-shone glass of a doorway, and now clicking “Enter!” and “Submit!”
I pitch the snowball of words, to you—“the catcher”—and it lands in your mitt!
that’s it
that’s all
short ’n’ sweet
textured Tweet
Sirloin meat
mmm ribs
mmm ribs
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.