Ha ha ha... What!? Where? Not there? there! Jesus, I better hide.

lmao. the poem designed for married men. love it. FLUSH HER!!! LIKE POO! and trade the groceries and dresses in to get some beer. blessed with 10.

course should be coarse? other than that: HAIL CAESAR!! loved it. 10.

huh? the last line doesn't make sense to me. You're also taking a risk when you say "All women" is that ever true?

and hate is the most feverish sort of love at times. 8.

I prefer the first one even though it was not strictly a haiku. (3rd line what follows is neither) As for 'all women', I did think that was a bit generalist. But the power of this poem is its logic how the 3rd line concludes the premises of 1 and 2. Sorry I can't help

the 6-7-6 one was better. Now the first line sounds like all women rather than all they want. And the third destroys the flow a bit. Sorry I couldn't help, maybe if you put the first version on and asked for help someone might have an idea

see, thats why i frowned instead of sniveling all over your tribute poem. bastard. heh, heres a nine.

ok, i like the general idea.. but JOE!!!!! ... your outlining, i want some meat.. take me there, I WANT TO FEEL IT, HEAR IT, TASTE IT, SMELL IT, ETC ETC. aside from my pushing, heres an 8.

blah blah blah -- your ordinary off the wall bathroom stall scrawl.. *fart* 0

oh jesus christ. GROW SOME BALLS. i expressed my hatred to my mother straight to her fucking face. you actually wrote and posted this here for HER? couldnt you use a little piece of paper for that so you could hang it on the fridge? fucking imbecile.

The poem just barely lived up to it's tit'e's potential, but Im a parrot. What do I know. 9.

My relatives read my stuff too. I can tell by the droplets of poo. (diarrhea) (sp?)

If you watch enough TV, someday you shall appear on it!

Interesting. I think (open to discussion) that the middle stanza is flawed in your understanding of memories. Your brain is only set up to record memories of unique incidents. Therefore we do not carry memories of the menial day-to-day. They do not form a mass. They form a hole in our existence - vast stretches of our life without any record of our having lived it! I think if you rewrite this poem with this understanding it will even be stronger (and the connection between death and routine that much closer). Just a thought.

lol. You should photo copy her beef curtains and solicit it to European mags for car ads.

shit. poo. its wonderful, your the dung master. 8

This poem is semi-autobiographical.

an improvement, you have been struggling for awhile, but this is proof that there is hope. 7.

Additional credits: -=Dark_Angel=-