My merry widow of Dopey Salivation

[fishfishquaileye]

cold as fart
she washes like the dishes want her
she needs to bring the hole to the loving quilt
when punctures covered her face of silence
i drink this hate bird mood
kindest fame on the shore of fames inclined

as the Harold Pinter
languine the Knight of poppets
of suctions
while the brain frame is your cerebral
of poisened drivers twirling
by the shades of the sunglasses
calling
i kept on falling
like an angel with solid breadth

singing the raven blue dross
to say thanks to the
noticing whine drenched mullets
of a vieuw ivy never seen befive

the liver of trickling blood
the confusion drying and tying me up
a missionary position complete
ive seen your harsh wooden forest
the endless numbers between the voice-box
of my flowerblooming

whispers can they compete with
my merry widow of dopey
salivation


why should i crap on phones
when she i she quiet
with quilty break down mammories

i can't stand the pain
when its following my fart
makes me moan with cleansing
bowels
as oblivion made my phone
kind of ring calling

[Violet]

cold as fart
she washes like the dishes want her
she needs to bring the hole to the loving quilt
when punctures covered her face of silence
i drink this hate bird mood
kindest fame on the shore of fames inclined

as the Harold Pinter
languine the Knight of poppets
of suctions
while the brain frame is your cerebral
of poisened drivers twirling
by the shades of the sunglasses
calling
i kept on falling
like an angel with solid breadth

singing the raven blue dross
to say thanks to the
noticing whine drenched mullets
of a vieuw ivy never seen befive

the liver of trickling blood
the confusion drying and tying me up
a missionary position complete
ive seen your harsh wooden forest
the endless numbers between the voice-box
of my flowerblooming

whispers can they compete with
my merry widow of dopey
salivation


why should i crap on phones
when she i she quiet
with quilty break down mammories

i can't stand the pain
when its following my fart
makes me moan with cleansing
bowels
as oblivion made my phone
kind of ring calling

.. okay, so you get up, you do your morning self flagellations, and then what do you do?.. Do you go for a nice walk in a pretty park, weather permitting?.. Do you think to maybe write a nice letter to that long lost relative you like so much, but with whom you lost touch?.. No. No, instead, you reach for some OxyContin, and now we ALL have to suffer.

It's time to get off the junk, fish. Actually, this poem is reminding me a bit of your host, in fact, and so I'm hopeful that maybe.. [unwittingly, it seems].. you may be on the road to integration.. at which time, I'll bake a cake, and we can invite all your alters and have them meet each other, finally.. [like that last scene in Sybil]. Then I guess you'll have to decide who's the best writer out of the whole mixed-up clam bake. Or, no, maybe it will be a combination job, which would probably be the best solution to this obvious morning-after breakdown of doped up broken mammaries. I mean, I know you had a tough upbringing, fish, but that should at least yield some good grist to the mill, so to speak, not a copious documentation of arduous bathroom argument. Speaking of--while it's not highly original, perhaps--I've no argument with the missionary position, but believe it's meant for the, uh, bedroom. [I think it's called] [I mean, how it is you've contrived to use it in such other manner of business, is not anything anyone here really wants to have to think about, fish].. [my god, it really IS time for you to get off the junk]

Well, it's not too late to get some fresh air, and to at least try to salvage what's left of the day. It's going to be difficult, I know, to break your habit, but once you do, hell will have frozen over, and so there'll be even more for us to celebrate. [oh, and while on the topic of Pinter, I'm not sure linguini has a thing to do with him or poppets, but that you should think so is at least vaguely amusing] [actually, just say Pick a Peck of Pickled Pinter real fast--about a dozen times--and you'll wish you never even brought him into this]

[yes, I'm analytical and prescriptive]

Oh, on the bright side, fish, the publisher suggested a title for the chapbook: The Three Faces of Eve After Beating a Drug Rap and Sending a Few Loyal Johns to Belmarsh. [Sing Sing rolls off the tongue better, but I'm afraid it's on the wrong continent]

okay, fish.. feel better.

Dr. V.D. Flowers [now specializing in MPD]