Y’all asphyxiate y’all’s brother.
Y’all’s rocks dismantle scissors…?
Y’all cry, “Boulders be my druther.”
Y’all’s scissors sever paper…?
Y’all’s one newsprint-piercin’ mother.
But…unless y’all’d suffer mutual destruction,
yaw no futher!
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
Friday, November 22, 2019
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