Dearest Nitro. I note recently that you expressed an appreciation for bad poetry and I thought, Hello, that's what I write!
Some poems torn from my very soul!
Dove
He doth fly,
by and by,
Is white, not fright, but white.
He doth flutter,
He is peace!
He doth fly,
Oh, by and by and by.
And then he is gone,
Life expunged and expelled.
He finds himself felled!
Dead. Dead. Deaddeaddead.
He lies dead.
.....................................................................
And for my next.
'Woman'
She burgeons.
She bludgeons.
He lies dead. Dead. Dead. And yet more, dead.
.......................................................................
And finally:
'Music of my soul'
music is my soul,
It flows from my mouth,
Which is in my face,
And is a hole.
My soul sings with music,
To hear a note,
It floats my boat.
I open my mouth and it dribbles forth,
It flows free.
It lands on my knee.
And there lies dead. Dead. And music is dead yet more.
Deaddeaddead.
