Monday, August 3, 2009
Shift+F7, results pending.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Whalesong
Your toxic sonic overspill is
hiking up beaching fatalities:
doubling, tripling, quadrupling.
Your toxic sonic overspill is
disorientating my whales. Interference
doubling, tripling, quadrupling
in cubic units of irresponsibility,
Disorientating my whales. Interference
unwanted, undesired, unacceptable.
In cubic units of irresponsibility,
you have breached your limit.
Unwanted, undesired, unacceptable.
Hush! It's calving season.
You have breached your limit.
Turn down the volume.
Hush! It's calving season.
My whales are struggling, still born.
Turn down the volume.
Clean up your sonic waste.
My whales are struggling, still born.
For all our sakes, STOP!
Clean up your sonic waste,
respect public aural space.
For all our sakes, STOP
hiking up beaching fatalities:
respect public aural space.
There are whales in my ear canal seas.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
90% of learning happens outside of class.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Ant remedies
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Wet Socks
Wet socks
make grumpy men:
the same wetness
that spoil their feet
draw out feminine curves,
cotton coyly clinging.
O if only clinging
to them were not the darned socks!
But life is full of twists and curves,
concede the men
at a distance of several feet,
while the wooing-thwarting wetness
couple madly with other puddles of wetness
beneath impotent umbrellas clinging
to their owner’s feet,
wetting more socks
and enraging more men
by being too intimate with unattainable curves.
The corner of her mouth, curves.
In times of wetness,
the sneaky peeks of men
come hard and fast and embarrassed, clinging
to a sense of chivalry as tired as worn socks,
as tongue-tied as verse in scrambled feet.
O Father, by Your Holy Feet,
Deliver them from her curves.
No one ever socks
another, or wrestle in wetness,
or rage with good sense clinging
to the gutter without cause. Deliver lust-struck men,
O Father! A-men.
It is laughable that men then turn to her feet,
clad in stockings clinging.
She cuts across the curves
of the pavement, slick with wetness,
a cruel betrayal of socks.
How fickle their clinging desires, these soggy men!
They who forever misplace their socks and trip over their own feet,
Craving curves glimpsed in moments of exquisite wetness.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Fragmented Seeks Help.
Fragmented Seeks Help.
I am:
sober hung-over without with the gorgeous the repulsive hunk dick under on my his duvet floor and I think don’t think that this is was mistake a good idea.
Fuck.
