Something To Hate

Profligates in Honor

O
divest yourself
of this.
And shed yourself
of pancakes
and never peal
again. Never, ever peal.

And open the mind's ass
to the profligation of known
antelopes.

If you know me, and I know you,
then we both know what hatred
means. It's a story as old as time
itself. It's a story told, of bold, and
how.

. . . strange thing is, no one knows how it happened," she said. "He just up and walked out one day. He never came back, never sent word. He just left."
"That is weird," Linda said. "It's just sick how some people can detach themselves. Sick!"

So, the detachment of a head, or a finger,
or a luscious and brutal cock is really no
different than the loss of a memory, or a
drop of your gall.

How embarrassing it must
be to know how you measure up within yourself!

No Write

Me no write
in Thailand
tonight.

The skirts of anger
brushed the airtight
stillness of a potential breeze.

The singers passed out
on tin trains -
whistle at the donna-
CHIMICHANGA!-
'Tis lucky we are free.'

Krabpoemp

Where does space end?
What time precedes the repetition of our yesteryears?
------quicksauce responds----

"You dumb fucking fuckers!" Hilton screams,
unbelieving that two shits of such low degree
have ever graced the world of the breathing.

Bonk a tonka with Willy Wonka,
chomp a pomp-pom after a romp with Thom,
or honky tonk a wampum if it gets you to the prom.

sign on the dotted line within the alotted time
line on the rotten lime drawn from the spine
the vine begins to climb the mind of crime

Comes a time, in every rhyme,
where the rhyme reaches the end of a line,
and at the end of a line is only time,
and time is only mine.

------quicksauce waxes philosophical--

Chunka-chicka chunka-chicka woo-woo,
understand this. And stand by this.
And stand for this. It's chunka-chicka woo-woo,
or it's nothing.

Candy
--word by any author--