Nonsense with a Side Order of Tripe
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The stomache turns, The world burns, The cat jumped over the moon. A page was hourse, A bee stung a Norse, The dog dug his own grave. The wall was tall, The wart was short, The vaccuum sucked up the remote. A snob played sick, A weaver was tic'd, A light bulb burned out in the night. The cabinet fell down, The mouse wore a frown, The ugly man broke down and cried. The syllable was evil, The grammer of a weavel, The syntax was all out of joint. The blue of the sky, The green of the die, The red of a vulture's newly bastized beak. A flag without colour, A boy without mother, A dictionary worn to the bones. A pagent of grime, A superb moment of time, The sex symbol who toasted her arse. A face made of stone, A hand left at home, All tasted good out of the furnace.
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- briankessler@nowhereatall.net
18 March 1999