A stirring ballad to all spring detesting snow men..

But that was then and this is now And true love can never be gauged They beat the odds and he's living sober with love day to day.

Oh, this is deep. Lights on. Light off. Do you really know who the person that you inhabit might be? Are we all just robots? Light on! Light off! Why do we sit as if we are in closets and not actually in closets? Lights on! Light off! Who are we but a mere freckle that can spell at the level of a third grader?

All I want to know is can I watch?

Huh? you spent the rent on freshly cut crack? But then again lots of lawn mowing imagery. Wow! Excellent work!!

Thanks, PAKI. Cycle of existence deal. Your mission, you mangy whelp, should you choose to accept it; read 'Poem in October' by Dylan Thomas, out loud.

hahaha!!! Did your parents drop you off at the mall for this date? I cried when I read this; I really did. It touched me in ways that I cannot even explain.

Very refreshing to read your sincere and biting comments on the writer's art and lot. Read 'In my craft or sullen art' by Dylan Thomas. I am also a Doug, I just hide behind the German word for lichen.

Good for the spider, but all that work for a lousy fly! Ugh!

Get rid of the typos. Some of the language is trite.

Niether, really since I still don't really know what you're talking about. I'm assuming some sub-genius Tolkien spinoff?

But darling he's haS no teefuses. I love the occasional gumming tormentor

larry rivers...my friend is dead and i was psychicly attacked last night, make a point you spic, or don't talk to me about pointless shit..if you wanna finally talk art, music,or movies and literature let me know..if you wanna play games, pull out scrabble and make a poem ' de atitude'. or what what's your fucking point p&k? do you have a kid? would you like to be catagorized by some uncommunicative light weight who claims to walk the earth...larry fucking rivers walked the earth with kerouac, and ginsberg, he was a wonderful poet, artist-proto-pop modern art sly devil fox. who tongue and cheeked the world wiyh his magnificent observations. heres a quote just for you, you gifted well read slam poety from kansas...."cubism didn't find me, iblew a joint with some friends in a gutter, and thought picasso...yeah.i can do that.why not i'm just a kid from the bronx, who hung out with beat' jews who were from harlem before harlem was black...he played the sax, in the 13th st. band, and one time, one time jackson pollock even tried to run over one of his sculptors at a mutual friends housee

THIS IS BRILLIANT you have realy put wonderful pictures in my head. you have described in such detail that it is almost unbeliavably true.

a cripples nipple so simple, supple, purple, with just an early tinge of a reddish pimple..see both cheeks bear that supple dimple. then...no smile, only the madness of dying grapes blood. feet pumping! thumping! feeling. purple>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>throbbing member antics burst a bad veins purpuse.purple

beyond what? a torn eight year olds desked hustler magazine? i think it needs a naughty ghost handed pickle. who knows next year you might be writing for big jugs or ebony lips, one can only aspire to dream of such accomplishments

sounds like a job for whoopi goldberg....ghost2 the reincarnation..vague canarys meet the cat quicker when singing barry manilow..

My favorite Thomas poems are his B-day poems. I like to read those in the state he was always in. Did I mention that the above poem is brillant!

not at all..he's an author of a few popular fantasy sagas..you know..he's english too for christ's sake look him up..he was quite influential with his vast amount of scrollings, similiar to say frank herbert or mr. piers anthony, and a one richard adams..

oh..baby i was bound for mexico...oh baby i was bound to let you down oh oh ohohoh..