Sixty million, sixty-six thousand and six/
Sort of looks like/
a pair of tits.

I need the world to rub sand in my eyes/
I can't make good poetry otherwise/
If things were different, I'd just compromise/
But you deserve better than that.

Two Extra Verses for Silent Night:

Holiday song, holiday song/
Sung too often, sung too long!/
I'm not drunk enough.  I'm not drunk enough.

Luminaires, every year/
Are they garbage or good cheer?/
Sometimes the bags catch on fire.  Sometimes the bags catch on fire.

Heaven is the future, the past is hell ( Read more... )

We sold a million, billion, giga-hojillion ( Read more... )

I propose to create a vuvuzela which, while silent in this reality, creates an intensely annoying noise in the realities inhabited by one's more successful selves.  This is accomplished by the use of a cat turd reed, inserted tightly into the narrow throat of the instrument.


( Read more... )

placeholder haiku
without artistic merit
mark a sad decline

Grand Canyon: living
reminder that even God
had an Emo phase

Almost Out

tripping hardest it
the humble didgeridoo
shook Earth from above

suburban heaven
psychic diorama merged
finally alone

stuck in another
perfect moment, all needs met,
finally playing

touching yellow dots
tuning the world; red, blue, green
preparing to blow

unscrambling the eggs
one deep note at a time, love
waterfall giant

[BANG!]

atonal haiku
starts this ( Read more... )

AN ALL-CAPS HAIKU
IS SOMETIMES ACCEPTABLE
BETTER THAN NOTHING