Sunday, November 16, 2008

Ethereal Beauty #15

What a ball!
They let me go at three.
In the dell;
I’m on a barnyard spree.

I snagged a nurse
And read her verse
From my soiled and spineless book.
She fainted;
It's tainted,
The smell from my diapers, ook!

I'm a poet
So please stow it
You harbingers of fury.
I'd lick my balls
In Eros' halls
If I could reach. Jury!

Sentence me
To ninety-three
Years with Rod McKuen.
We'd bugger
Each other
With love odes. Here's to screwin'.

I'm the best
I must confess
At this odd game of verse.
I bite fleas;
My girlish sneeze
Makes brains leak out worse

Than cooking oil
From pots I've spoiled
By papering the copper
With poems
So ho-hum
A five-year-old could top 'er.

Could gag ya,
But I give it to my sheep.
They wink at me
From the sea
Of grass. And they never peep.

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