A Pair of Poems
Once, in 11th grade, we had to pick 11 words out of the dictionary and construct a poem with those words (along with some other, minor words.) Here’s what I came up with:
The shocking home-brew diagram
disproved the rough-neck shaveling
while the down decoy longed for
the Flying Dutchman’s puma.
Yes, that poem sucked hard. The poem I wanted to show you was the one I made with the words my friend Steve chose:
The exact logistics personell
moped and atoned at hte shrine
of the fence-sitting, neofacist
meat-prophet.
Gold, pure and simple. The page I’m reading this from even bears the legend “Charlie FTW!” in the margins.
And yes, the only reason I’m writing this is to postpone doing anything on my to-do list.