A Walk into the Woods: Poetry Corner

In the light I feel a fright, like I to write when falls the night. Try fly a kite when winds will fight, will waste away with all your might.

Nary a dry eye in the house (they say). Not even a mouse not even a mouse's louse (they say). Not for even an ounce (O-a rly now) of ALL, the GOUDA, (lolwut) IN, the WORLD. Milk's gone curdled (oh) his tail's gone curled and his tale's curtailed (no!) 'til the curtain's unfurled.

Rejection notice in my hand/ sits light as sand and in my eye/ stings just as rough. A cool hand's/ grace across my face/ a head in sand, a burial place

X to the Nth from the streets with the beats & ask not Y if you value body heat. Hold tight your warm meats, keep your seats cool complete, do not so much as consider to concede to compete. I'm full bodied, able-blooded. You wondering just to what it. I warning you just to shut it. If you give a mouse a cookie, then you most surely will be flooded by the hund-o-reds of vermin all of everywhere all wormin', mouse bits all tiny firm and spermin'. In the time it takes to 'xterminate, million mice reach home 'fore second date. No more 'fford to wait before you fumigate, but it's far too late, mice've licked clean each and every plate. That was your final mistake, making friends with a rodent, so dense sometimes the skies are pink like noses, now know this - If you give a mouse a cookie, will it grant you any notice as like unto scurryin' swarms of locusts, they achingly back-break us, they coat us and then they choke us. Hey you Fucker - Focus! Hellfire fuck us, for woe have we have fallen like waves of points of pollen underfoot the swollen bodies of nature's mean & mighty mice. What fools we be to give. A Mouse. A Cookie.

My teeth are sorely antiquated
thanks due 'tire eras of misuse
I fear the years I've masticated
'thout restraint on lead-based chips of paint
have hastened this sad shameful de-
but of grimy dentures ivory-plated
as cloak the pained remnants of our abuse
no belated excuse
could ever excuse.
With a deathless retinue of dentists
whose whole revenue I've most sorely paid
I've lengthily debated
need for these oh so harsh abatements
and time the same I wear my shame
as prison blues. We, me,
the King, whose mien should beam exalted
Must abjure steak served too freely salted
and sweets sweetly too sweeply sugared,
this these depthless dentists have concured.
My Queen, demure, she purrs to soothe my deepest wounds
for knows she where my heart be headed
and would deigneth to saveth these officious oafs
from lives that by all that's right should be spent headless
as if 'twould matter much as of a difference...