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Ass Backward

He sings signs and recaps pacers.
Here’s a hint:  be thin. Nit pick the tin,
but always recoil the coiler. Pat the tap to be apt, but part with the rapt.
Dear, dear. Dare to read. Those who lead do so in the dale,
After they’ve made a deal with mead.
The diva is avid, and all the icons are sonic.
There is no shade in Hades. Ha ha. Ah, ah. Ho, ho. Oh ,oh.  
No, on  all that.
Jesus was slain with nails and all the saints have stains.
Even so, death is hated and the feat is fated.
If so, is Tulsa a slut?
Nancy says tansy is nasty and dog is God.
Go on, no ifs or buts. Fill those tubs with water. But don’t stub your toe. It’s a bust all the way.
You’ll find more amore in Rome. Follow the routed detour, for bad credit is seldom direct.
The citrus shines rustic, so put the lamp in your palm.  Those who practice eros so often sore,
weld the Tuesday lewd. Don’t dwell.
When I banged the stone, I got ringing tones. Those who laze too readily lack zeal.
Due north you’ll find a tree with a thorn. There  the hornet stung the king on the throne.
Blake was bleak about rats on the star, so Pam got the map.  Were I Deus, I would have sued.
Go to the ward and draw, where  Lee ate  eel with tea.
Don’t wear that garb when you grab, and never ever brag.  Remember the bard, so often drab.
I hate the heat. Big Macs are nothing but a scam, though I would ride that dire road for Dora.
Look at the scar on the cars, and and the liar on the rail in the lair with the Kool.
A yarn is nary worth a stone’s throw, and often a sonnet may weigh several tonnes.
Wear the ware and wear it well, because everyone knows art is little more than tar on a rat.
War is raw, so you end up in the lion’s den. With burning loins.
The stern always demand their rents, while they turn to the tern’s wing.
Tow those two boats, damnit.  He beats the beast, after he walks for a mile for a lime, headed east.
Cares often scare. So beware what you wear. Bats keep tabs, so be sure not to stab.
A dome is one mode of design that is never signed. Or even singed.
Always reside in desire. Find a mate with meat not too tame to champion your team.
Many debs end up in strange beds, but lead was not part of the deal in the dale.
The dray horse slept in the yard with the pelts beside the wee ewe. Was it only we and you?
Don’t slap your pals who sit in your laps. That’s wrong, for a girl who’s grown.
Evict the civet—it stinks. Don’t worry, I sent the nest.  Now what—a thaw?
You eat it, she ate it.  Drink tea. It’s the norm in the morn.
The maid was amid the rock and the hard place, so trap the part, and stay rapt, for the hare is really a rhea.
That stud? His boots are full of dust, and he could use a boost. Easy to stun him, because he’s nuts.
Shit! He hits the lean girl in the lane. Spunk? They’re nothing but punks.
Part now with that tarp. Nothing but a trap. Par for the rap. And per your rep.
The pram rolled off the ramp. Told you it would. Don’t just beat it, abet, like you mean it,
and keep tabs on the bats.
Steam the meats for the mates. The blue eyed wolf will flow,
And the gel on the leg lags with slag, as he waves the wand
in the dawn. Oh, those Buffalo gals.

31 Jul 16

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(16 more poems by this author)

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whoa! youre really a genius. outsmarting, eh?
 — unknown

the scuff & cuffs
 — unknown