full-throttle noose tied to the sheets; i wonder what hap-pens if I tweak my lover’s voice. If I shift it up a pitch, or, say, I want to shift it down—down would mean a longer wavelength, so, I guess, she’d get my message across time, like AM radio, an email spread out, possibly, across real time. now they’re saying (on TV and such) that the devil didn’t hang himself; he, in fact, was strangled to death
I’ve got him in my clutches, now, silly, silly, snaggle-tooth - (the best lay, at one time, that we could find) build me a house made out of bricks: are you going to stack them, bit by bit? wolfy with the wool pulled over his eyes; i ignore the people, nowadays, that fed on my lies, entertained, I suppose, by what they might see self-destruction, but, wait! He’ll be found at the bottom of the sea of Galilea.
Lover come over; be a better friend to me. what’s wrong with a hairy chest? get over it, you fool—it’s too much to shave, and, besides, you’ll sweat like a snake. but that’s the way they do it in Hollywood; you think you’re that much different from an ape? Or a bear? Spirit animal, no wonder, you deliver, only, the body we share.
i only go for cruel women in drag -
i educate them with muddy waters,
find me a lover, i’ll poop in a bag,
this is the life the bull-fighter incurs
Deliver me, tall, dark, and handsome, to
the start, dear friend, of a happy marriage
think of the love, by now, that you’d accrue
if you gave way to what they disparage
men and women of a former life,
you want an adventure, no gossip, thus,
strip down, now, for the surgeon’s knife,
remove His cancer—he’s already famous
and, given a modicum of our suffering,
he’ll be found, what have you, among
a man among men; the first step bring,
all east of Eden, and the last, that stung!
no longer held, by statute, for ransom
sign this agreement—Now we have a deal!
fill up the tank, that coffee with rum
should capitalize (love) on how you feel
since he’s loads, for now, of self-pity,
we’ll give him a minute to recover
before asking him to sing His ditty
Do that—I hate you—no dream brother
Mr. Fitzgerald, hiding in the bushes,
shaving cream on his noble forehead
listen, now, my one true love, she gushes
under the influence of liquid courage
the tell-tale sign that she’s just like me
prone to the same parenting mistake,
to make fun of those with a history
of innocence, loving, once, a proven fake