Sun 21 Dec 2008
The Rules
Posted by anaglyph under Poetry, Rasputin
[12] Comments
OK.
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(Also, be sure to catch The Trailer over at Old Fish and Lemonade… Really, you do want to…)
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I don’t follow rules, I gently bend them.
Bring. It. On.
Cock.
How anyone can look forward to this is beyond me.
A rule, in time, becomes a law,
And, finaly, a hackneyd saw.
A saw coud hack a knee or toe.
Thank God th dick dont hang that low.
So eager are the loyal few
To pull the pen and jump the queue!
Risking, in anticipation
A premature alliteration…
Th more I plan, th more I think,
Th more my pen is filld wif ink.
And then, in one grand episode,
I writ my poems, and blowd my load.
Rasputin poems are complex
You better bring along Kleenex
Or a sock from dresser drawer
As not to spill some on the floor.
Merry Xmas Mr and Mrs Cow and to the two pretty little calves xx
Th stuff I spillt upon yer floor,
Is pickle juice, and nothin more!
And now I see yer eyebrow raise!
What were you thinkin? Mayonnaise?
(Merry X, Revrend.)
Now’s not the time to show your lance
So keep your Russian in your pants
I understand the 1st is tense
But please stop spewing condiments
As in my pants my Russian goes,
Youd rest content — so Id suppose.
To my chagrin, you fuckin dope,
You unzippd yers, and showd Europe!