Could be a song.

sounds like a showtune. I don't know why.

God... I lost my load on tha... haaa 10 spheres until #2.

I can almost feel how hard you are trying

Fiore dolce

I like the rosetta stone metaphor.

Here's the club for you! http://www.vampirefreaks.com/pics/girls01.shtml

Alt+l+w+l/Ctl+v me there. Sounds like a nice place. Puppet here, puppet there - no difference to me.

In memory of Princess Diana reprised: Turn right here, no not here.

"The rage of a Gentleman stained is like no other- it renders the victim painfully buttockless, partially dishevelled, and wholly incapable of operating heavy machinery." - Charles Dickens Rutherford pulled up his breeches in disgust. Struggling to fasten his belt buckle beneath an handsomely bloated abdomen, the vast Gentleman spluttered out the latter portions of his third luncheon and staggered blindly backwards. His blundering footsteps stampeded throughout the boudoir, crushing furniture and mindlessly pulping household pets. The flailing bootlingtons hop scotched for hours, then, in some dastardly twist of fate, wedged themselves disgustingly in the soiled abyss of the butler's primary chamber pot. Rutherford fumed. Arthur Weatherby-Browne peered up from beneath his off-white sheets. And the word "unbelievably crushed pelvis" took on a whole new meaning...

yep maybe I did swill one to many 8oz bottles of robitussin max cough back when (ugh)

I love it when you talk nerdy..

Cutest ever. I like the rats.

you, sir, have wasted your commas, as well. but you turned a nice trick with the similie.

what the poem is about if... brith=suffering,grief, life is to die death=celebration,divine,to the great unknown funny how this got twisted up in mainly relgious thinking, sadism.... when their both exactly the same just different ends of a cycle? dont get me wrong here... grief= suffering a loss of someone in your life, mainly, which does absolutely nothing but make things worse... you cannot bring the dead back, so feeling this can do nothing postive.. what every victim loves to leech onto mouring= memory of the lost one, feelings directed toward them, not back to yourself, the selfish grieving way

looks to me like one of those police criminal descriptions

I feel this person... loneliness is acutally a real test of human stregth and sprit... you feel it once then it says... :/

wHAT A BUNCH OF FUCKWITS!

feels as though there should be more. The circular pattern of the shovel is almost predicatable--perhaps you could prolong this with a few more stanzas in between.

Sounds about right. Don't forget Graham Norton.