Everyone’s shit stinks.
Some think theirs don’t,
Just adding foolishness to their stank.
They decorate the face,
To sell you on the cunt.
Italy is sexy.
France is sex.
The rest aren’t even on the scale…
Of course there are different types of beauty!
A Spaniard will never write Bach’s counterpoint.
And a German will never invent Reggae.
Contemporary German pussy tastes like gas,
Not Bach.
* Based on a sampling of 1,000+ contemporary German pussies, from puberty to menopause, from virgin to pregnant.
Only experts can see,
The future trees,
Fruit,
And flowers,
In a seed.
‘Here I sit,
Preparing to quit,
Life’s painful series of circles…
‘Will I be missed?
Will I be dissed?
My thoughts are racing in circles…
‘If I do die,
They’ll cry out a sigh,
And carry my body in circles…
‘They’ll bury me deep,
Where insects do creep,
In busy and endless circles…
‘My body will rot,
They’ll each eat their lot,
And continue their tireless circles…
‘Until one will break,
And suffer heartache,
From one of life’s treacherous circles…
‘And then it will sit,
Preparing to quit,
Life’s painful series of circles…
‘So I may as well stay,
And continue to play,
As a human in life’s infinite circles…’
*To be sung to the strumming of a lyre.
I count my blessings,
And curses.
Genius verses,
Empty purses.
Piercing eyes,
Compulsive lies.
Penis peer-less
Hyper jealous.
Perfect health,
No hope for wealth.
Unprecedented clarity,
Dependant on charity.
Family generous,
Thoroughly outrageous.
Wild lover,
I really love her.
And on, and on, and on…
If I understand it correctly,
I love you dearly, my dear.
If love means that I cannot breathe,
Unless you give me leave,
Then I do not love you.
Or if love means that I cannot cum,
Outside (the presence of) your bum,
Then I do not love you.
But if love means deep respect, intense attraction,
Sprinkled with a willingness for sacrifice,
Then I do love you.
Or if love means that every now and then,
I’m not sure where you begin and I end,
Then, indeed, I love you.
But if love means throwing away all my dreams,
So that I can fulfill yours,
Then I do not love you.
Or if love means expecting you to throw away your dreams,
So that you can fulfill mine,
Then I do not love you.
But if love means that my happiest moments were in your arms,
And my most tortured when you were in another’s,
Then, I confess, I love you.
Or if love must make me jealous when you fall under another’s sway,
Until I’m willing to kill and throw my life away,
Then I do love you.
Or if love means that I’m willing to outlive you,
So that my death won’t kill you,
Then I truly do love you.
But if love means that I want to create a living symbiosis of our two halves,
And spend the rest of my life raising and caring for it,
Then I do not love you.
But if love means that you are the epitome of beauty,
As far as my fantasies are concerned,
– Indeed, a claim few lovers can make –
Then I proudly proclaim, ‘I love you!’
So, if I understand it correctly,
I love you dearly,
My dear – – – – !
My flesh feels live!
Not alive,
But live!
Like open sores,
From head to toe!
Like scabs torn off healing wounds,
Still wet with puss,
And crying nerves,
Which even a kiss would hurt!
Only time can heal,
What logic failed to fix.
Always a step behind,
Emotion’s dirty tricks.
Only time can now decide,
Whether to endow,
A fresh coat of skin,
Perhaps a little thicker now,
Or scars ever-leering…
Crippling…
Reminding…