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catshrimpshitgrit VIII

exhint this? xhibit me, from
eve-ll, duvel the fun,
no hop for one-legged luke
sawed off-leg with light-"vwom
vwom"- his father smoked
too much and had to get a
now he talks like a goldfish.
speaking oggden i slash
the colours off the rainbow
and beaker the waters of
aramath into a glass tube
of 500mills and bills
of money don't know where
to go go go.
that is the cats draw though,
water-colouring mice for the
kill, shrimping off deesaster
as the germans laugh the "ha ha",
that's not cannes, its
canonical as cannons ripping
ACME into the keynesian nightmares
of supplies in demands, where
the fishwives go to lay
their legs,
hopping so hoppily that they grow
back all nice and shiny.
you can't get nothing
worse than that, where
martians and venuses
all all-ine and cancer
out the bad words like
solder and heartier
kind of metal-gun me , love
me, hold, colder me as
grit lodges its taxes in
my i. mytie mare e me?
no horses of courses
just use me,
like a sailor over the bow
like a tailor over the tail,
like a cat inside of a shop
as it ponders the life
of shrimp who are yummy
in her tummy.

14 Sep 09

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'light vwom-vwom' goes right inside my head and tickles. This is the best poem, and it really is written well. It's all so hip-hop but better.
 — 2queer2fear

yes, cheers.
 — DeformedLion

'like a cat in the shop' maybe?
otherwise, ah very gooed right, hand
off yores.

; )
 — fractalcore