i still write you love letters.
post office says they won't deliver them unless i take the bombs out. but if i took the bombs out, they wouldn't make any sense. they'd just be sheets of pronouns.
and i'm out of stamps.
..........
prole is not a dude, yo.
if it doesn't ache, how do you know it's there?
a poem about prole's dog
gozer is a little hound
with fuzzy paws, and teeth
and you can pet his fuzzy coat
and feel the dog beneath
i let him on the bed with me
although sometimes he pees
but when he's good he snuggles up
and sleeps between my knees
he will not bite your little child
unless your child attacks
happily, he'll share his kisses
and fleas that he attracts
he's still a little puppy now
but will cease to be so tiny
but even when he's old and grey
he will always be mine-y.
thank you, no, i have not been drinking.
where the airplanes all have horns that play la cucaracha
senor perdedor gave me some space for some pictures you could look at: http://goatcam.net/~prole/
!!thank you, mr. perdedor!!
mellow out or you will pay
baby, you've got to be more discerning i keep my poetic license right next to my concealed weapons permit.
two sips from the cup of human kindness and i'm shitfaced
Suck on my fingertips until you kill all my prints
So your boyfriend has no clue
Of how much I've been touching you
i want you to know, the rays of a mullet are straight. not guilty, i said, you've got the wrong man nothin' touched the trigger but the devil's right handi don't care if they miss me, i never remember their names
you can keep the reward, i'd just as soon stay sick
love like you don't need the money
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(they were out of milk, so i brought jug wine)