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A crease forms in her brow, cracks open her head, split to the brain pan, eyes slurp, dangling socketless like two abject squid, nose hairs enlarge, slithering Medusa snakes hissing sinister venomous drippings Amazonian nipples grow Transformer weapons live blades sniffing for flesh like bloodhounds mouth opens cycloptically (O Sigmund!) silent as Poe's Tell-Tale old murderer until the unholy Voice says in whispering thunder -those distant horses of the night- smilingly, horrifyingly: Watch for Ipecac in your coffee, Dear.
Copyright 1999 Frank Van Zant
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Secret desires of docile lust Tentative dreams of hedonistic delight Unmanned fantasies and shadows of inner turmoil Foresighted illusions of sympathetic silence Freud plops down on the barstool next to my dog - Sue Eating a banana cream pie and ridding himself of fleas He says - Sue, it is not who you lay down with that counts but rather do they have the right manners Sue growls - Dobermans have no recognition of inner struggles between egos Just a snoot full of teeth and a profound disdain for psycho babble
Copyright 1998 James David Ballard
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When I die I'd like to know where all my excess taxes go. Into a pot marked, "huddled masses," to spike their gruel with thick molasses? Will they shod a child or two? Or roof a hapless couple who ...was bad at poker? Or, will my taxes line the vest of some slick lawyer from the west, who sells 'em high or buys 'em low, and knows the tricks to make 'em grow ...in his garden? Pillage, plunder greed and rape form slippery slopes that tilt my axis when I think about them taxes.
Copyright 1996 Lucille Waters Younger
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(kickin' dirt, worryin' stones with boot-toe) I gotta get this pome down, These words have'ta come out, Or they'll bust my skull wide open, But I tell ya, Reality sure won't like that I did, That editor in m'head will fuss and fume, Do every thing possible to keep them in, "What right do you have, metaphorin' other people's Lives by ridiculousin' your own?" Could be, I guess, But such doubt won't keep me from doin' it Like it has the others driven underground, Oh noŚ Each external editor will have to reject All thoughts out of hand To keep me quiet, But that won't stop the words, Will it? (wander)
Copyright 1998 Ben Stivers
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This is such a fancy feast Each one will get a fork And each will likewise get at least One knife to spear her pork And if you ask for extra tines We'll quickly acquiesce Because we read between the lines And do not want a mess. So tuck your bib, and have a seat, Prepare to be refined. Pray this: "God's neat, let's eat," To gluttony resigned.
Copyright 1997 Diane Engle
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There is a fungus between my feet
to tell the truth I think its neat
every day I watch it grow
Spreading slowly from toe to toe
I no longer shower
so I can let my fungus flower
it's an experiment of sorts
and I keep daily reports
sometimes it does itch
but you won't hear me bitch
I love my fungus it's true
and I will until my foot turns blue.
Copyright 1997 Stephen C. Fuller
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The Poetry Pond
We all know that money talks
although woe is me
the message is
all to often
Clifford Stone - email@example.com