Arse Poetica!
2 The Sperm: I kid you not...this is actually good. My house is a condom: used and fit to burst With half-baked, fragile, forces of life, Seeking completion and fulfillment Of goals and hopes, desires, ambitions of odd Success. Hopefully these walls aren't strong as thought.
posted by Duck @ 5:23 PM
3 Comments
Several years ago -three to be exact- I volunteered to participate in a psychological experiment. I was to undergo various tests that would assess my cognitive functions. Before the actual tests, however, they had to examine my blood to see that I fit the bill, in terms of a normal and healthy person. It was then that they found that my blood's blood, or Spea, was dying. The well groomed, suit clad, business minded individuals dwelling inside my circulatory vessels were unaware of their being part of a complex, multi-cellular organism. Their universe was a human and their human was irresponsible. The case was brought in front of the Supreme Court. The doctor's daughter, who had fallen in love with me, had no choice but to banish any thoughts of us and move on. She still loves me but has a practical side that I cannot bring myself to resent. I was told that the French/German poet, Croixan Sawnt was my only hope if i were to escape but i have been unable to contact him. I have found out only recently that ever since he lost his leg in the famed 'War of the Arachnids', Sawnt has gone into hiding. Neither of his daughters has heard from him in five years.
3 Comments:
As is almost usual...I have hid here in the comments section a deplorable poem. It is not a poem. It is a pathetic rape of a dog's nipple. Imagine a person who would actually kill a dog by drugging it and then having sex by inserting or frankly just stabbing it in a nipple with his dick. It would undoubtedly be a painful death entirely undeserved by the animal. This is the sort of chap who would be found writing such poetry. I am not such a chap...i'm just a bad poet.
3
Phony Shit-Pot:
Ideally I wouldn't even comment on such a ridiculously attrocious poem but times have changed and I believe that some tirade against its existence is in order. This may not be the worst thing ever written; since I achieved that feat some time ago, but it's definitely in the top five. That being said...I must admit that if I had an ounce of shame or integrity or a sobering drug (oxymoronic), I would remove it instantly and never let it see the digital light of the web's binary dawn ever again. That was a horrible sentence. I wrote it. You read (past tense, sounds like: red) it. My case is resting not dead.
Thus ancient ties were then forgot.
A strip of dirt divided thus we fought
Now sadness seems again to be our fill.
But I locate no reason for such things
The lot of Lot; it has become our lot:
We gather what we can and turn back not.
We travelled far and wide to find some peace
In distant mouths of caves, on tiny trees:
A home inside a home: a house of bees.
We lost all sense of self: Thank you and Please!
As madness second nature, harsh, becomes,
Peculiar cruel thoughts then come to mind
Conspiracy theories swirl around in turn
We will light the sky and watch it burn
This comment has been removed by the author.
hey there.
you have to delete this post.
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