dibkins

I was happy then. I am happy now. I will be happy. I was happy then. I am happy now. I will be happy. I was happy then. I am happy now. I will be happy. I was happy then. I am happy now. I will be happy. Hehe. Join me.

My poetry is random, rambling, old men, bird in cage, golden, but my circuis animals are still here. Except the donkey - who is gone free, and Richard parker lost at sea, come and see the show, do see, for a modest (lie) fee. My poetry is random, I can't spell, I can't puncuate, I use Word, but my circuis animals are still here.

The whore and the platypus went to war in a beautiful fuscia tank. They took some dirty magazines so platypus could wank. They drew up on the battlefield - the foe were 'ranged around, a drunken poor young tortopoise stood sitting on the ground. "What ho!" began the platypus and made the tortoise jump. "Get up orf our battlefield or else you'll get a thump." "I can't," replied the tortopoise while chewing on a cat, I'm waiting to be ninety-three, and wear a bowler hat. Then I shall write bad poetry and walk down by the strand and swim inside a tin of beans and lunch upon green sand." "Well move your arse" said platypus we

Me and you, we're being stalked by insane Belgians, but we need to be even more unlucky in a bright pink Cadillac with a blanket on the back seat and a plastic elvis on the dashboard. We talk about polkadots and dinosaurs, and why you never see them any more. It's a cold and grey Chicago morn on the CD player. I look down and watch until I'm dizzy as the wheels turn. What goes around comes around. To sum up, we're in a nutshell being eaten by a squirrel.