Rambling cross-country poem

A stub of a poem which has been designed to be expanded ad nauseum by various authors, wtih the punctuation "..." indicating a portion as yet unwritten. I wreckommend typing as quickly as you can or better still dictating, followed by unrevised transcription.

Vicarious joys which have been
X-perienced
one and another
through electric magic portals
and another and another
feverish flunky sets down
for an evening of
kicking of the self

topless, plopless
and limping
...

wherein and whereon and who-so-forth
shall settle within a circle
of designated colleagues
or predetermined footpaddles-
or chicory beverage manifold
friends-become-preachers
with continuous sermons
about she-she-it become
the man
and she-she-it remaining
where he-her-him
shall have to remain
we all have our duties

...

pan-gong-song
while people are sleeping
is sure to anger
even the doormats
and shitmice
The rattle
of prattle
closed the door on cattle,
so keep closed
your orifices of pie
and seal them with
a few rolls of
Stay-Shut

...

...

Feel the electric magic
Lest you be laughed at
by the tragic
and scorned by the rabbit
in the corduroy jacket
Walk a talkie
down to the seaside
bee ride
(akin to teabagging)
La vida is not a miracle
or a spectacle
it is merely another habit
passed down from Mom
like so many mitochondria

...(insert portion about
cell phones coming to life
and using persons as food)...

Whatever shall your eyeball behold
such as:
fights, quarrels, squirrels,
marriage, things-that-should and
things-that-should-not-be,
brothers of compost,
sisters with extracephalic ears,
skirts and their contents,
piano wires used as exercise equipment,
people on drugs,
people falling in love with
each other and themselves
underneath gay autumn leaves,
rolls of television,
...
riots over who owns the sun,
fish without fears,
when it is known they should not be so,
cows feeling pressure to fit in,
...

Whatever shall your earhole
listen in upon
such as:
automobiles and their
wheelspinning,
birds sinning early in the morning,
the thud of tangerines,
argumenters argumenting in the night,
the national past-time,
...
...

Predictions of where we are going
have clearly been predicted using
a pie chart showing where people
have been kicked in the past
though we all raise an eyebrow
to the percentage regarding
private parts

...

...

Let the railroads work on
themselves,
Let the weasel perform some
task more useful than mere
going of "POP"
...

...

The handle of a candle
cannot be used
as a sandal

The wick on a stick
will be used
with which to lick.

etc...

What a fucking letch!

Sometimes,

I'll admit it.

I'd rather look at lovely,

precious,

booty,

than be so

arty.

But sometimes,
I can't decide. So,
I do
both.

UpCHUcK the Boogie Woogie TipTop Pole; or The View From Up Here

If Only the Popcorns Brewed More Smoothly Under Sunnage

Too slowly
runneth all speaking
for me:--into thy
chariot, O storm, do I
leap!
And even thee
will I whip
with my spite!
Spake Nietzsche
with a grimace and
a grip on wandwood
of essence.

Asparagonzola was
thrice, twice
the age of that
nitwit when she
opened the doors
of virtue and
despoiled her own bit
of essence.

But that was then, and this is
steak. You must keep off
the grass in these times
if you wish to idolize another's
marbles and volleys of,
"Oh, say nothing," and "Don't you wish."

If only the breathing tides,
could wrap you up,
and choke your breath
away from your neck and
head and lungs,
would I then smile
and rub my meaty hands together
in triumph.
They are worn hands, tired of living,
and calloused with wounds from my enemies
and pounds added to the heads of enemy hosts.
The hands smell of old nectar at this moment,
old nectar and the goose pectin from yesteryear.

Don't open that cake,
lest Ted Bundy will exercise
freely in your face.

Oldy But Mouldy