I am a recycled consommé. You may consume me more as I flow through the
cycle, sickle, heckle, something anyway.
And I am a man, so I flow, I am not Flo, but I am on the Floor a lot.
That energy hitting my skin
encourages my walking and looking. But
it does not encourage people to look at me.
To see you I must use the peep hole.
Energy elates. No wonder I am so late. The flushings along the shore called me a
Latte. I heard it over and over
again. It must have been a call drone or
a caldron.
Ions give me strength. When the sun goes down it becomes my Ion
Night. I would say “Good Night” but I was turned into a Wood Knight. It happened because I thought that the Star
asked me “Wouldn’t You?” But, in my
reality, it was the stares, not on the stairs, and he said that I was a “Wooden
Shoe.” You people are always shocking
me, or at least mocking me.
A collected muck of Ions and
Protons bunched up beside of me. That
was the UP Press. The Hydrogen Angle
called himself “Your Hydrogen Angel.”
Then he welcomed me to this Commute entity. I thought to myself, “If he Commutes and she
Commutes, they must be a bunch of Commutists or at least Communists.” Such a Community of Con Mutes. I sure wish more of them were Mute.
I always try to use my phone,
even though I have no friends to call.
That stalactite that formed for that Hydrogen Angel just kept foaming at
me. That was while he connected with
those Axises of Electrons that were swirling around him. He’s lucky.
I always got a bunch of Axes swirling around me.
Suddenly a Robot became as good
as a Pig to the Lying Man. Well, I admit
that I Lie, which is a Lie in itself, so they began calling me an Alien. And my Comets sure are Suited. As my Comments
ain’t very Sweetened. I don’t know if it suites you, but if I saw a
Girl in a Purple Suit, I sure would Purse Suite her right into my Suite.
I think I’ll just swamp here
until the End. And that is my End,
not Yours. Not even Years. Since My End is on an Not Even Year, it must
be 1913.
And that was when I heard him
proclaim, “Human! I Tear! Run!” So,
I just Bull Frogged along. I don’t get
very much afraid anymore. I am more of a
Freight. What comes out of their mouths
are just a bunch of flies and fleas so you don’t see me flee or even my fleece.
“Tell me! Don’t Sell Me!” I said that, because I know I am Cell
Meat. I must be in Cell Meat Ala
Bismo. I’d just looked at those clouds
in the skies instead of You Clowns In Disguise.
Oh, just give Peking back to the
Pekingese. I’d rather have Peking Geese
instead of Peking Duck. After all, I’m
just a Spinster Man, a Spinster Man. I
eat my lunch from a Garbage Can.
Minister, we sure could use a Ban on J. Edgar Hoover again.
And you thought I had taken off
after that Bride of Frankenstein. Well,
well. Your friend asked you, “The Kikes! Are the Kikes ready? “ You sold him about me, “He wants the Kikes!” Then he told the rest of yous guys, “Now off
with the Kikes.”
Which caused me to just tell them
“Ich bein ein autor. Ich bein ein
Geologist. Ich bein ein Computer
Proggrammer.”
I thought I was in a Tabernacle,
but I really was at my usual place in the Tavernankle. I thought you were in the Tavern’s Ankle
Quieter. I also thought we were not in New
York. To me it looked and felt like Old
York. Whatever it is, it’s all a bunch
of Work. Yorks sure terrorist er.
Did you know that the Adriatic
and Half Day roads were named in honor of two
Potosmokinglee Fast-food Chefs? Adriatic
or Aromatic. Half Day or Full Of
Hay. Hay! Hay! Hay!
They’ve been saving drivers in Northern Illinois from dining out over
about a 5 year period. Once they were
tasted, people wanted no more. When
those rumbling stomachs came back, they weren’t hacked. They are just slacked. And that is thanks to the way those Invertebrates
help. Invertebrates or Inverted
Brats? They are just people who were
kicked out of the dining room and then put on a reverse faction.
That’s when I found myself at a total loss. My life is out of my control. First, I thought I was walking down the
block. Then my senses found I was
drifting in space with a bunch of Aggies and Piglets who were demanding my
exhaled carbon. That was when one
started singing:
Der Hann ist tot
Der Hann ist tot
And I thought
he sung:
Your hand is tote
Your hand just wrote
To which I
replied:
Ich kan nicht verstehen
Koko dee Koko da
Which to me
interpreted as:
I cannot be staying
Kookoo bee Go All Blah
And
then all went dead. I just could not
understand. Is all of this my bible
bubble or is it just your bile babble?
Constantly, Humble Bumble, every boot you shake, it’s my life’s
mistake. What we see is my motivation is
to vote for the rich guy instead of for the Nation. I know we are still earplugging because he is
that Lord claiming to be a Blister:
Two Girls (Uvanka and
Moneyalina):
Who say Nicht if he is
not with me and my sister
And when we get gored by
that blister
Who says nyet if we don’t
say he’s such a man
And we really mean that
he sucks at being a man
Just remember my fallowing boot
is really not. And it is not a
knot. It ain’t even on a cot. It is never too late. By now you should know that my fallowing boot
is always in the toilet. You inspirited
me with that one. You know that after I
am dead and gone you can find me in the john.
Let’s just Celebrate Moth Head’s
Day.
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