image from wikipedia
“Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,.
so lust will sate itself in a celestial bed.”
William Shakespeare from HAMLET.
Ghoost: Perhapps I am, or am not your fodder’s
spiral, dummed for a gaggle of thorny ticks to
waddle the night, and as to the lite, confiscated to
to sprint in flames, till the fowl crimeas done neath
the gaze of Gaia are burned and pissed away.
If I was not zippered and tethered to not spill the
kidneys of my cage, I could vomit a tail fully
unwagged that would gut thy loins, freeze the plasma
midst your orbs, making your binocular fusion , like to
bilious gas giants, blow their bladders, thy curly lox to
straighten and each hare to erupt like the thrusting
quills of a pious porpentine’s posterior. But hay, these
salient sorrows should not succor the lobes of meat
and blud. But damn the torps, for if you ever dug your
Hamolet: You know I did!
Ghoost: Then my buoy, you must revenge my hidden
and uber obscene homicide.
Hamolet: Bitchin’ , I am red eye, so lay it on me, Pap.
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub