All plants are anchored in the soil
and flames make up all fires.
I ask you, though, why man’s small pin
is not a simple thing.
At night he sometimes wanders in
and leaves a pleasant sting.
But, in the day he hangs between
two duffle bags with wrinkles.
And there he sleeps. Is only seen
occasionally, for sprinkles.
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M and S she wrote, and T
a finger points at little meno one has cried, no one has cried.The signs are in the big green bookand also known to those who do,I’ll have a look (not at the book)if all of this is really true.
There once was a fellow named Putin
quite unable to eatthat disgusting buckwheat,it was rich -so he figured- in Gluten.Putin’s wife, who was ugly and snotty,who would constantly utter RABOTYI,she wore clothes from abroadwhen the cold war had thawedand she paid not in Rubels but Zloty.Putin’s kids smoked the best Marihuana,were for punishment exiled to Ghana,where they smoked higher grade,which was skilfully…
She took the lift
down to the morgueshe had been sent.Pick up a tagwhich could be foundattached to his big toe.No soul in sight(though they were felt)she opened number nine.A moan did greeta student nurseshe ran in record timeup to floor tenwhere she then huggedthe janitor’s own broom,she quit and workseven todaywith parsley and with dill.
A fish can never be a pet,
because his home is always wetand he despises peas and carrots.I hope that you now understandwhy no one walks with fishes ever,all pets can spend their time on landor swim in water, which is clever.A fish will swallow in the enda silver, extra sharpened hook.No fish will ever be a friendto anybody but a cook.
On the beach stood a small villa
Christmas Day a huge gorillabroke the window to the den.Woken by the grunting, groaningdown below the couple worriedwife said ‘Hans, we should be phoning’,but he went downstairs (he hurried) .In the chair sat the Gorillawith a mug in his left hand,told him ‘Howdy, name’s AttilaI come from Sengaziland.’And they had a conversation,talking monkeys drinking brew,then…
…..and why, my sweet do I not miss you,
There is no mad urge to possess you,I do not need you for salvation.And, can I live, my sweet, without you?My life before you – was it hell?Am I obsessed, bewitched about youand do I need you, to be well?I’d always thought that it takes twoto be in love, be with each other,that one must…