Fiery Rhyming Word Sputum

Words that burn in twisty tongues and lap at my ticklish pneuma.

I wash my face with the Devil’s grace,

And smile like sex pigs through lenses.

My thoughts don’t rhyme, but then sometimes,

I find that the sweet rhyming cleanses.

 

I sleep with fleas, and wake with dogs,

I bite snakes to feel the predator’s taste.

I wallow in s**t with the shiniest hogs,

And I still don’t know which jewels are fakes.

 

I curse the grins of gods and men,

And slap the clowns with a crowbar.

If I chip the paint, I know sinner from saint,

And I haven’t been hoodwinked so far.

 

I kiss princesses; they turn to frogs,

Not the marrying sort, but good for a romp.

I dance with them in the slimy bogs,

My heart has been broken in pond and swamp.

 

I spit the grits of murmuring twits,

And my spittle gives life to their nonsense.

I vomit up words in rolling black herds,

And my livestock is graced with a conscience.

 

Each pretty trend that I don’t comprehend

Feeds the fire that keeps me from freezing.

As you burn in my flames and play my new games,

I hope you will find the trip pleasing.

 

If you don’t understand as my verbal bombs land,

Then just sit back and enjoy the madness.

I’m just speaking my mind in my own dancing lines,

And crushing the head of my sadness.

Author's Note

When I smile, please tell me if I have something in my teeth.

Reviews

[Robert Francis Callaci]

You have a deft hand with rhyme- I do so enjoy your turn of mind- Again aside from the slightly serious undertones of this piece this is a tragio-comic treat. A lot of great comics are tragic figures- that what your stuff reminds me of- From the laughter and comic subject matter that your poetry's foundation is based on -there are some serious tragic stuff that's going on along the under-theme. You have not yet disappointed- great stuff.


my warmest
bob