When my life stash of learning I dump and sift From the trash heap resultant I’m able to lift A three word phrase, a whimsical gift The three words are random, genetic, and drift
Steppenwolf’s Harmonica a poem filtered through 14 laminated grains * Sometimes I jump up and down shouting, “Rice!” It frightens the birds and scatters the mice. Why do I do this? I know it’s not nice. Oh well, time to roll about screaming, “Think twice!”
tiger tiger burning bright are you near though out of sight waiting for me to step through that feeble curtain of bamboo hope not
Lemons are good Lemons are fine These ones aren’t yours These ones are mine
My name is Edward Lill. I live on a window sill. When you pass me by don’t attract my eye. I’ll burst into tears, I will.
The creeper of the night shook his shaggy arms and clenched his shaggy fists. From the shelter of the dense hillside wood he glared down at the distant campfires scattered about the plain. Soon enough the descending darkness would be terribly shattered. And the creeper of the night would be fed.
the moon is made of butter fat the sun is made of cheese if i’m not pendicular please elevate my knees – the moon is made of blubber paste the sun is made of grain if i’m not rizontical please ship me north by train
When ghosts arise from the murk of dusk to shadow over the lake, they long to recall that time in yore when they ate that really good cake.
trembling paterfamilias endow my life with cheese and if you can’t accomplish that please cure my damnable wheeze
june – june wobbles apace with savage lips my soul to disembowel – oh crafty june i spurn thee in thy greenest mood hell is my comfort
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
