A spine tingling tale of alchemy and beakerdom.

Well played. This poem made me think: There is the classical approach where fine physique and its attainment are considered virtues - the work itself and the struggle are not masochism but something to be enjoyed. Then there is the reluctant, desperate, reactionary, and poisonous pursuit of perfection that our society is seen to espouse. What allowed the ancients to pursue this in a completely healthy way while it eats away at us? Or maybe they felt just as lacking as we do, and it is only historians, who seeing images of physical beauty, ascribe to them a sublime sense of the aesthetics of athleticism.

Sometimes more IS better. I liked the 1st version, but this was worth the effort. yes.

not bad, alverland

I think your caps should be in the middle of line three, giving it somewhat of an arc. Like a small girl grossed out and sqealing. funny funny funny.

Dave, This is truely......well...a mystery! But you did expend effort to type all the letters..so please accept a heartfelt 1.

How many years have we been on this planet? And we've still learned nothing. still doing the same ol' same ol'. What's taking Jesu so damned long? Held up in a fast food line no doubt. Maybe just... held up?

You should write horror films. This scared me.

Is this about a bar-maid you've encountered while "INTRANSIT"? I like -8-

I find a cap gun a safe alternative.

Your poems have revolutionised the concept of boredom.

wow, what a freaking literary genious you are.

"last year, my best bud was mown down," were they driving by on a John Dear?

Ooohh. Nice one, sir.

That has got to be the most amusing poo verse in a while. The cinder block bit was the icing on the "mud" pie.

Here's a joke for you: knawk knawk....

Puerilely decent until the last line.

i can't believe u used hawks.

u

I can't decide whether the second line is brilliant or the most idiotic thing I've read in the last twenty-four hours.