ok totally ingronre the comment above i'm retarded lol Im FUCKING retarded

i like this work in progress your style is very prosy i like it did the helium tank really explode? lol only prob i really have is "the bangs had drawn a sweaty crowd of spectators....." it seems too laid back and chill for seomthing that is thrilling and exciting and crazy. i hope to see the finished work

well one needs to use it in a poem like this one becuz i have no idea what this guy is talking about. technically it could even be a paintball gun or Skis or even a dildo like you said.

Look psycho I wrote this poem to settle 6 months ago, and just did an edit recently, please, don't get paranoid on me.

some imagination lol. ;P

Glad I directed my comments at the narrator, then. I'm working on a poem that tells an amusing true story about an ashes ceremony I was recently invited to witness, see below. Read it in reverse order so it will follow the timeline in a linear fashion, I was trying to make the occassion a mystery and put the poem in reverse order but it didn't work. Ashes to Ashes The air smelled of moistened trees, buckshot, and latex as the crowd walked gingerly back toward the camp, some ran to avoid further soaking by the rain, or to put the ordeal behind them. The six rifled gunmen had ultimately been successful, after multiple failed attempts to get the balloons off the ground, the impatient crowd instructed “Shoot the bottom one first, it’s heaviest!” while glaring at a too-heavy string of red and white balloons but the rain came down steadily through the lush maple and birch leaves. The gunmen had been forced to wait longer than they’d hoped, each time they aimed, the pedestrians cried out “More are still coming,” “Old people can’t walk so fast!” Irritation had been rising throughout the trek to the abandoned, overgrown cemetery of the 1800’s The cemetery belonged to the same church whose foundation we passed along the way the walls burnt down after the last of the smallpox victims had died, now its basement’s stone walls stood moss covered, defiantly and proudly intact. Maybe Industry was on the map back then, a farming community, not this cluster of unfinished hunting camps with black tarp insufficiently covering leaning plywood structures. The helium tank had detonated one after another balloon, startling ashes off cigarettes that hung loosely from observers’ mouths. Dust gathered on the designated inflators’ socks and shoelaces, The bangs had drawn a sweaty crowd of spectators around the corner of the house to watch. They were hastily instructed to scatter the dust around and particles were thrown around in the bushes and trees, over the house loam came trickling down the roof, spattering into trays of deviled eggs on the picnic table. Frank’s finest day, His plan of a 21 gun salute for family to see off the ashes of his radiated body into the depths of his beloved hunting camp a plan a trickster like Frank would appreciate, his last laugh.

Oh I thought it was a U-Haul

when i put my first thought aside (which was dildo) a ring comes to mind. cmon man, the noggen needs electricity to operate, give it a few shocks.

we also set them up in the ghettos and sell that shit to blacks and get rich off them and thenwe buy our new ass homes in the hills where there are no blacks but then when the blacks riot over stupid shit then they burn down our stores and the cycle happens all over again so simba that is how the ghetto works

fuck you! RACIST! haha

it's cuz we're communal creatures kind of like ants we're all sterile which accounts for our small penises and we only listen to our queen who is a big whore

Do we? I believe you have me confused for someone else, but fine, if you believe that more power to you. I could of sworn that's always been my argument against certain poemranker crowds, but if you want the platform now, be my guest. I'm saying this 'piece' of poetry could be tightened, compressed and shortened, and lose nothing but it's redundant wordiness, whether there are fucking idiots on poemranker swimming in feces, or suffering from milking farm animals with the attention span of a ripe squash. All poetry can always use a good edit. Spare me your need to drag the poemranker argument into my observation of your wonderful piece. It makes me like you less for being that easilly unfocused, and I was really getting to like you quite a bit. For instance "starving scavengers" Scavengers are always starving hence why they scavenge, therefore lose starving. You have twenty examples of this type of redundant wordiness in your poem. And the shape and structure of the piece, is ugly, and could use an editor was all I was saying, said, because, I like the poem and care.

Look, dont be a sensitive virgin.. makes you a tastefull target.. Idiots spend time asking people why they use racist comments or make such jokes concerning racism.. people with brains laugh, nod, and move onwards to new horizons, without a second thought.. but the GODDAMNED naive maidenhead girl stands there, mouth open (as if ready to suck), whining "BUT THAT WAS RACIST".. and then the black man cums in her mouth.

Its about marriage, so yeah, Dildo would be a good title.

and they all smell of kimchi and they all own cheap clothing shops called Fashion Lady or Fashion 4 U or Fashion Love or Fashion Joy and we you try to return something they yell at you "You no undastan! No refun! Ekchain only! Undastan? Ekchain only!!!