#shitpoetry

Part of my brain that spews shitpoetry:

I would if I could

Change my name to

SnoodleWonker

Go stomping through the woods

Chewing on some

Noodles going hoola bonkers

I eat with my middle fingers out

They do not come with a safety

So why don't you think twice about

Fucking with the likes of a faux satan

Remember the name (Snoodlebonker?)

Because I'm starting to forget the band names

I saw at that one concert

Some were actually famous, some were sponsored

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But at least I queened out to some

Magic City Hippies

And how can I forget Cheshire Gyat

Or as some would say

Trippy Chonkers with a Vanishing Act

Now you see me, now I'm twerking

Don't bother me when I'm working

. . .

Whistling to the tune of . . .

. . . it's a mystery why anyone . . .

. . . tomorrow always comes early

Bumblebees and sunshine

Buzzing through my head,

Singing songs of Summer

Where fairytales are bred.

Dandelion soldiers

March across the lawn;

An army full of wishes

To scatter in the dawn

Sunflowers and sweet peas

Reaching for the sky.

A symphony of cyan,

Where golden finches fly.

I had a beautiful dream last night, no it wasn't wet :\

I was a pizza delivery girl, a hot one, yeah you bet.

Roaming around like a free bird was the highlight of the dream,

Other good things were obviously pizza and ice cream.

"Tininini" - that's my alarm sound, and we're back to reality,

didn’t you really mean

the best thing

since

Caught between DNA and destiny, We search each chromosome For what’s meant to be. Caught looking for home between religion and science, A delicate balance of the mind Grasps at a strange alliance.

To define mankind, Is it providence To leave providence behind? Are we the creation Which we’ve designed?

Between the arguments Of saints and scholars Is an equivalency no greater, Than fifty cents to half dollars. For neither can answer With all their dogma and their all their odds; If along this pilgrimage were we the gods, Who made gods in our image?

wore like a noose under the mistletoe,

she felt antic for her rosey blushes.

They were doting her like she did to them,

their lips tasted like

bellies of snow,

warm hugs in the frost.

Like icicles on powerlines,

Their kiss melted away

Leaving the ever burning heat

Of cinnamon tea on her lips."