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memories of a coward's backhand

as an entity
this living room
lacking melody
no questions  (yay?)
the original weirdo
that cheers for me
from where i smash
a green light
to delicate red    
and hopscotch
i think i was born on accident      
i love that
he dreamed of being stuck
on the side of the highway    so much
he bought a beetle
went back to leap frog
sold his doctrine      whoopee
fishing poles  
a vintage pervert
trousers of huckleberry
my new feelings    they pop out
you'd hate it
i put up with you once
then you got serious
around twelve minutes
we whistled    extra large
with dixie and gorilla glue
you got high on altitude
i put an x on all your airs
stubbed a trophy
on the way down    finally
to be alone      hallelujah!
at breakfast    
i was the best problem
you should have seen me
you were partly there    
with hash browns    extra crispy
i blew up a shelter
it was in your heart    you built it wrong
it wanted a change
the grudge wouldn't relocate
your demons wouldn't eat dessert
que sera  blah blah
i took your middle finger to-go

22 Nov 15

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So good! wish I wrote 42-46. Good all around , bud/ ms. bud
 — sixtywatt

They all want their hash browns well done, don't they?  Curious, but accurate...
 — aforbing

these things live here as 'poetry' because they speak for the little people, the oppressed and dull and not able to read an entire novel. mostly, writing like this just says stuff to someone you'd be too chicken to say in person. that's genuine... i mean, if you were in Dachau you'd have to scratch little words like this in the dirt and then rub them out.

so, a victim's poetry... victim of race or sex or class... imagine using this same text but re-populating it so that it was a rant about obama and taxes, written by some rich dude with a golden mont blanc. it'd sound stupid to this readership.
 — cadmium

humm, mando. you must be growing out of your edge, becoming 'thoughtful' instead of 'instinctive'.
 — cadmium

thanks, sixty- i don't believe i have seen you around here before, but then i've been pretty absent.

hey aforbing :)

what up cad

it's just a different style. i try those now and then ;)
though the genre pretty much stays the same- whatever that is

it's also a retort. those are the funnest to write, most fun, funner
 — mandolyn

right, and if you don't do the new 'style' effectively it's ok, cause you're trying. it's a dorky poem, and you're just fishing in it for brilliant.

use bacon, if you're just going for piggy pure.
 — cadmium

oink oink
 — mandolyn

We sell a BACON PIG CHOCOLATE BAR!!! Call now:  888-636-8162
Or shop for yourself online:  zingermans.com
 — aforbing

so good & entertaining. I love.
 — unknown

she couldn't go for piggy pure,
her heart had too much kosher --
so, when she'd shop,
she'd pause, she'd stop,
and had to ask her grocer --

what's inside of a piggy ride,
is it up or down --
hamlet or clown??

what consists of a piggy kiss?
is it sloppy, smooth or fun --
oh, who can show me,
teach how, to have a piggy hon?
 — cadmium

dropped an 'me' after teach in the last line... typical, rushing to get to the funny ending.
 — cadmium

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this is so fucking raw i love this wish i could give this ish a 1,000,000 gotDIZZAm das some pure fuggin POETRY
 — penandpaper

better poem in 2nd read. pretty stern stuff, but awesomely written. thanks.
 — sixtywatt

There once was a man from Ibiza
And as much as the holiday's seize ya,
When Easter come round,
And a prize pig on the grounds,
You know who's dialing for pizza.
 — sixtywatt

yay for mandolyn!   what a wonderful fusion of sacred rhetoric with dicey taboo interjections and trite responses.
 — Seditswing

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