The Military Sent Another Fine Girl Today,
Into The Library Like A Sacred Cow On A Pledge Drive,
To Stand Under Lamentations 2:14 And Roll Out The Green Carpet,
A Mile To The Farm To Bark For Bullets To Bend The Rules,
Hair Pulled Back In An Impressive Bun-Display Of Ritual CourtShip,
Her Blood Is Not Her Own... Her Femur Is In Service Of The Great Pecking Order Of Rank
And Discipline,
And Her OutFit... Immaculate!
...
Army Tank Battering Rams Fitted With Bouquets And Ribbons,
A Garden Of Delights Surround The Waltz Of Swirling White-Gloved Dressage,
Children Chase Each Other With Rainbow Lollypops And Neapolitan Sugar-Highs,
Trumpets, Saxophones, Trombones And Clarinets,
Coors And Labatt In Plastic Cups... Pudgy Fingers EveryWhere...
...
They Have Been In That Band For Years!
...
...
Lineing Up For The Kiss,
To Peel The Garter Off With Manic-Cured Teeth Bared,
The Cheap Aroma Of Deer-Hearted Cologne To Drink InTo Stupor,
For WeekEnds By The Crew-Cutting Clearness And Whistleing TeaPots,
Phone-Calls Like Hard-Ons Only Bring DisAppointment For The Registered And Gifted,
The Mass Communion Like A Strieber-Opposite But With Check-Ups InTact,
To Stare Up To The Cross For Commands From The Pentagon,
Sit In Polyester And Wait For Esther To Finish Eating Only The Lonely Babys,
While Dogs Whimper And Salivate In Their Pick-Up Heat...
...
Noon... Turning InTo Six-O-Clock Rationals...
...
...
Hikeing Up That Mud Drenched Hill,
For SandBag Bitches To Do Or Die,
Machine-Gun Mothers Shooting Tracers Across The Khaki Dusk...
...
She Is Only In It For The Trust-Find...
...
...
The Glory-Boy That She Maintains Beyond The Rubber Band And Pan-Cakes
Can Not Seem To Build HimSelf High Enough With Out The Tin-Spoon,
A Casual Look To Her Left Can Reveal His Potential Day Job,
A Desperate Look To The Magazine Rack Can Only Reveal Current Affairs,
A Quick Look To The Right...
...
...
Ha...Ha...Ha...Ha...Ha.
...
I Am Only InTo Girls That Wear Tight Jeans,
And Whom In Their Youth Once Peeked Beyond The Cookie Jar.
It has been proven that the patience of ants outweigh the worth of saints... this is the blog of RICHARD WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK-THORNE, author of STILLNESS AND ECHOES.
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Sunday, 24 November 2013
Waller Street Minute
Little White Courtesy Car,
Like Carry-On Luggage For The Muddled Class,
Middle Of Solveing The Riddle Of The Road,
Ridding The Ride Of UnDesireable Self-Knowledge,
It Breezes Through The InterSections Like A Fisher-Price Eraser,
Traverseing The Walking Head Easys And Talking Toed Sleuths,
Past The BubbleGum Dumb-Dumbs Sucking For Degree'd Gongles,
ReFlections In The Rear-View Showing Grey Skys And Paved ByGones,
Errors Like Spitting Images Double Their Pleasures,
Rubber Spun Daisy-Chains And Quiet UnComfortableness,
Thoughts Like Pregnancy Buoys And Cigars On The Greener Side Of The Pool,
Algaed Musk From The Open Window In The Attic To Blend With Napthalened Grace,
The Here And Now On Wings Of An Ivory Dove,
Dropping Its Figure's Branch,
For The Keys To The Mansion's ParkWay,
Clipping Their Rings OnTo Rabbit's Feet And Terry-Clothed BoyFriends,
For Those Shopping Bags Full Of Sunday Drives To Laugh,
They Could Keep Laughing,
Drive As They Laugh,
Laugh...
...
Till The LipStick Gets Pulled Out,
Ready To Pave For The Essence Of Fuel For Another Drive Around,
Ironing Out The Wrinkles From BirthDay Suits,
Pressing The Button To Air Out The Interior,
Adjusting The Mirror For HeadLights And Towering Trucks Up The Sleeve,
InTo That Tunnel For Peripheral Misery,
For Rainy Day Pole-Positions And Yoga Mathematics,
Reigning From Seat-Belted Bliss Like Gypsy Moth Olympians.
Like Carry-On Luggage For The Muddled Class,
Middle Of Solveing The Riddle Of The Road,
Ridding The Ride Of UnDesireable Self-Knowledge,
It Breezes Through The InterSections Like A Fisher-Price Eraser,
Traverseing The Walking Head Easys And Talking Toed Sleuths,
Past The BubbleGum Dumb-Dumbs Sucking For Degree'd Gongles,
ReFlections In The Rear-View Showing Grey Skys And Paved ByGones,
Errors Like Spitting Images Double Their Pleasures,
Rubber Spun Daisy-Chains And Quiet UnComfortableness,
Thoughts Like Pregnancy Buoys And Cigars On The Greener Side Of The Pool,
Algaed Musk From The Open Window In The Attic To Blend With Napthalened Grace,
The Here And Now On Wings Of An Ivory Dove,
Dropping Its Figure's Branch,
For The Keys To The Mansion's ParkWay,
Clipping Their Rings OnTo Rabbit's Feet And Terry-Clothed BoyFriends,
For Those Shopping Bags Full Of Sunday Drives To Laugh,
They Could Keep Laughing,
Drive As They Laugh,
Laugh...
...
Till The LipStick Gets Pulled Out,
Ready To Pave For The Essence Of Fuel For Another Drive Around,
Ironing Out The Wrinkles From BirthDay Suits,
Pressing The Button To Air Out The Interior,
Adjusting The Mirror For HeadLights And Towering Trucks Up The Sleeve,
InTo That Tunnel For Peripheral Misery,
For Rainy Day Pole-Positions And Yoga Mathematics,
Reigning From Seat-Belted Bliss Like Gypsy Moth Olympians.
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