Saturday, September 12, 2009
Lonely Sperm Cell To A Desolate Egg
What else can I write about if I can't fornicate under consent of the
king? How else
can I adjudicate alliances if I am to play this gentlemen only ladies
How maledictive, fictive, and irreparably parabolic, kryptonite to my
What else can I sing of if not penance of a swing swinging with
Soft as a rosebud, a thorn will overdose, but am I truly to find you
Is it you? Careful of the draft, my lady, it's only Saturday, it's not
okay to die acutely
of sex on a holiday. Who will pay their respects, irrespective of
salaries? Who will cry
or light a cigarette, or sigh, or fight for Queen Margaret, or furious,
be daring? Fye.
Me? You ask me? I have not even thought of beginning. I have not
even been living.