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paste!
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The Revised Slavic Herder Song To Be Sung After A Meal Of Beast
Poetry sucks my big black cock.
Engrave that into a stone tablet
then break it over my head.
You are insignificant;
I stole that line from many, many people.
The melting ram is peeing
on the top of a mountain
for her mate to arrive.
Down by the creek, a pair of older bastards,
gold seekers, are planning their funerals
because times are tough and there is no gold
and they are stupid for thinking so.
Where O where, shouts the bride of Charles Mingus,
is a new galaxy with orange missiles,
spears of celery? My ideas are only rooted
in following the tales of the hard going.
Nobody responds, no means.
Eating the bagel, Hegel spurts out a comeback
and it has little to do with what Eisenhower
mentioned in his brief speech on the rising tower
of landlords. Nevertheless,
the ram moves on. She takes twelve aspirin.
She is sitting on her hooves it is hot out.
The magician is plotting against his stereotype.
Mogwai is playing in the background
and without a doubt, the plumbers have run out of electrical tape.
There will be no more trouble in the Town of Few Resources.
A drug has its press release later in the afternoon
and a few people will forever lose a certain frown.
Tidepools will summon at their feet.
Metallurgy keeps me movin’,
The hotline is my daughter.
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