Needs work, but it has potential.

He's only got a blank look cause he reads so much fucking Lao-Tzu. It's his own damn fault.

That would be funny. Let's invent labels for illegal drugs. Obviously we'll target the dealer's market in bulk quantity's.. our sale pitch will be <stick a note dope, why leave yourself a note that's already there> yes YES! I CAN SEE IT ALL NOW! different colors, textures, scratch and sniff ahhhhhhhhshah big type, little type, lsd friendly labels...anti paraNOIAAA LABELS SWEET JESUS MAKE THE VOICES GO AWAY!!!!!!!! we could make labels that beep with a remote device like an avalanche victim or car alarm..you could entertain your friends with it like "hey watch this guys...lets see where i hid my dope last night"...and you would press the button and a voice would emit from the box of kleenex and say addict addict over over and everyone would laugh..you could make it chirp..or bart simpsons voice..it could tell jokes we COULD MAKE LABELS THAT SELL THE DRUGS FOR YOU, WHILE CONTRADICTING THEMSELVES WITH SURGEON GENERAL WARNINGS AND LEGAL stipulations..shit we could just fucking make the labels out of drugs then just label the people when they reach the age of twelve...cvhirp smirp bur burp bur tickity dert sery top in frucker <sorry we interupt our show to bring you an enlightening yet pointless fool proof ad [buy nikes..or else they'll by you] {tv implodes everyone claps, angels queef in siccinct orchestral melodies...yet i once again turn and depart unfuckingsatisfied} thanks god, for a nation of finks where nobody has any privacy or can mind there own fucking business...and the words to describe to my three year old son what a gun is. aint that kool. pause for effect. whatever./i told him only if they're green and see through i guess i still have a week until they invent that..shit bachus already did..also this comment is brought to you by 'depends' the only way to hide an embarassing moment why? well that depends. d

I was hoping that when he unfurled the carpet Richard Nixon would be in their performing an exorcism upon the hobo's crotch trying to figur out where the lemon scent was originating from (never really noticing the lemon tree growing out of his ass from his days with the quakers) and then to have ended the story with say a full scrotismal equinox with solar gas and crab nebula cookies and stuff an such? Therefore, you only recieve the nine of balled twine with a dash of safron.

Wonderful ending. 'bsolutely wonderful.

you got me all heated up with a strong start...and then, well, nothing. you lost me at ac/dc. you lost 'it' then too. do over.

Still in the exercise process? Let's hope so. Odd phrasings, awkward rythms, and weak wording in places. But that is what being a hard hittin' street poete is all about.

I hate to do this to you. For some reason it feels like it's about some one who died. still has that sexy edge you want but it's carrying extra baggage.

I like what I see. It has real potental and no I'm not going to say it needs depth. I think it just needs to be longer.

Sounds like a dangerous dude. Those mushrooms jusr don't mix with boose. He shoulda read the warning label. A solid 8.

Fix the question mark situation, and don't start your sentences off with but, and or of. Unless you are damn good.

We refer to depth as bathos in these hollowed halls pilgrim. Remember that lest you meet the hoof and beak of Yor and shudder in terror of being educated the hard un lubricated way. For the poem? The last line is inorganic too pushed..you should find another. Some "" here might help <stranger, how did you come to be?> because? well because you're asking god damnit unless it's(in your own mind) change your ins to into. last line might be......a pile of fish guts.... just kidding how about "so close to eternity" or so far from...

"that stuttered stop " that stutter stopped would work better. Also i would lose a third of the poem, and just title it as the process. Find more of a visualy pleasing form to the stanza structure. Make the ending count a little more next time. For instance while she's not looking put your face and mouth under the draft spout. crook thee arm at the elbow. I once met a guy from Missouri who killed a dangerously ill manicured 'street poete' in a moment of sexual repression and masculine confusion while wearing biker tights and a fanny pack. Gruesome, but then the street poete turned into a zombie and did the thriller on his face..Brains anyone? they are almost fresh..a

Quicky, now! Your shoes are on the Wronge feete! "I realised that the pub wasn't really a pub. It was the chasm of our own self-belief." Ande which Pubbe is not, Sirrah? You are losing your purplish Grippe on Mast'ry of the Obvious. This is weak, and not ready for pub-lick-aye-shin.

was she selling wind chimes for a church?

Geeez! If you would have squeezed the damn lemon juice on the scampi, you coulda been somebody.

More stories please.

have you been listening to STYX lately?

Mmm..soy lattes.

Absolutely Splendid! You're awfully pushy for a bottom, though. you know what impertinence means....To the rack! you can take this 10 with you, though.