Who never ate his bread with tears

here to complain.Had to clean hallwayspolish the sky,came back to bake youan onion pie.No one has evercome back to yellthere is a cleverDevil in Hell.

of the wrong colour.It is always thosewho write the lousy poemsthat scream the loudest.My dear Aunt Huldaalways said that miseryis bottled envy.She also said tonot go out and play with themtoo many bad boys.So what I did isput on my Lederhosenplayed with Aunt Hulda.She had the wisdomthat all those boys were missingbut played poor checkers.One…

there are some for the deadand for those who can hear.There’s a flood simply waitingto enlighten the massesand the bold ones are matingwith the word middle classes.I am swimming with sparksand it matters a lotas each letter leaves marksand the airwaves run hot.I pretend that I couldn’treally care what they saybut I know that I…

Resting tired eyes now staring at the stain,left by the welcome deluge that filled the pool,reminiscing of a past life in Death Valley,where Mother Nature’s furnace dries out your insides,got the better of a maiden named Ann-Sally,used to go into the heat for long joy rides.Day came when Sally, who had not returned,appeared to Mother…

reveals himself a dilettantemisspelling (really!) sycophant.Don’t you just love the ones who usebig words just like a mitrailleuse?It is like sitting on a twigwith lipstick on one’s inner pig.

behind the break a bit of fleshy rotwhich must be flushed and spirited away.The leg is coming good, I see it from afar,and energy is just around the closest bendsome day, my trusted friend you’ll see the barfrom the inside, and there will be a precious blend.I know you cannot stand the patience devil, nowe…