"I go about things the wrong way!" S’okay,
I am human and unlike everyone else does,
seemingly I'd stay. Works right so far ’bout
seven times. Well, I’d much rather pull luck than
push weight or sell, or shift my position. Do tell.
From yours to mine? Oh, got a rhyme. "You shut
your mouth?"
How then can you say I am human and need
to be liked, okay? Hell no, I don’t need. And
I shall not want as a matter of pleasing aim
and wont. Yo, I aim from South Dang, N.J.
Yank-style, oh. Just like anyone else? ERR
ERR, s'okay, go affray awhile,
or leave! Like a forest leaves ash.
Tell you: does it tickle inwardly, or
wrench all askew? Do it Boom
Crash Opera's "Onion Skin"? Is it
shot hot pus like an abscess from
too-too within, like an operant chord,
like a cat-(Maine Coon)-fought
rhinoceros, scored and gored? Trust us.
Trust
this: trust
you. Any cat that
puffy, fangs and claws all
wigged-out hard is weighed
too soon, while charging
right-yowl’d and without
No Doubt to bring some barked
hip too-late tune to bounce-dance
at. Go! Only to make friends, true! Well,
Ask any cat just how much they'd like to
make friends,
you.
Only two
make friends,
everthough. Yet that
was some cat. No crew:
solo. His name was
Frank. Now. Isn’t
a fact?
Yes/No?
Then go. Take the burial, ground
to worm and bone under
tree: go
splat,
Honcho.
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