Suffering for love
Curly red hair and freckles
Sweetest of Dutch girls

Forty one years old
Slim, articulate dancer
sang sweetly to me.

stroked my back and hair
We Tangoed with such beauty
I'm lost, i'm all yours!

I like it Betty
A wonderful description
Its meaning is clear.

You fit so nicely
between my arm and my chest
a key to my lock

I'm worried about
that some things don't change and that
could be the downfall

I was thinking what
it means to be a "troll", why
is it done so and

why do people see
others in roles that maybe
others don't want to play

some things don't change for
a role is set by both by
the player and played

that troll's gotta troll
the poor pitiful princess
always our bridesmaid

all hail to janis
cleaner of troll detritus
go you wonder grrrrl

You sang in my ear
The falling leaves drift by my
window sill, My gift

at that great wedding
let it be widely revealed
you were the bridesmaid

how gay was that role ?
you tried hard as the princess
but a bad leia

hard as you tried to
filling your gold bikini
was an epic fail

your strange disorder
may be certifiable
but you're mostly troll

i've seen much pussy
eaten it and drilled it too
but you're the biggest

when you stop and think
all that gay repetition
says more about you

10 years and you
still won't shut up, but that's me
as well and at large


How gay was that?? w00t! ROFLMAO LOL ROFLMAO LOL w00t!

a troll may be droll
but you are out of control
jump back in your hole

10 years and you
still won't shut up, but that's me
as well and at large

i saw a man with
a hole in his face from the
tobacco he used...

Rolling cigarette
U can't stop the addiction
The flame tempts you so

what if a real artist
was here, would you admit
he was she was here?

i have nothing more to say
because I have said it all
and I'll say it again and again and again...

god am without damn
i am blaspehmous yet faithful
living for the saints

crushed by a oorld of voices
building politically correct and undead ways of thought

merry meet and merry part
and don't even show up again lest you bring 36 cans of stella artois for the superbowl so we can watch

ads more interesting
than the game itself

guess who's back, guess who
who cares, tell no one, no friends
not even a reprimand

have we lost our
humanity to the market and the sense
of what we should know
about each other and who we fuck and what we draw close to our egotisical ways
have we forgotten our freedom so easily

would jack kerouac
still be alive to see the internet
and respond with jazz

and insulted for living with
his mother and his
roaming catholic ways

what have you to give
to the great buddha of self
but bullshit and nonsense

or will you outgrow
this nonsense and cut all ties
with this crawling art

the words we say shall
we outgrow this time of dead
gen x nonsense or

grow irrelevant with
the insults in our cloistered
clerk shells waitingf dust

oaks quiver, soaring
blossoming, slyly, haystacks
moaning, screaming clouds

competitiveness
irresponsibility
civilization

distracted by spam
i lost my rhythmic mojo
spam thou art evil

spam spam spam spam spam
spam spam spam spam spam spam spam
topped with more luverly spam

Coupling couples
Copulating copiously
come competitive.

damn viagra ads
you should harden the fuck up
your meat is our spam

Dougal my doggie
Just sitting on the carpet
Nothing bothers him

Back to my little home
from where i did roam
i went

sitting under a tree
i had been
watching the sunset

a quite night
distinct lack of sound
broken by a falling leaf

then another
landing on my arm
caused me to look up

peering back at me
with bright black eyes
a one legged bird

with a voice
of some dimension
it spoke to me

a warning i was given
"beware of
Lefty the cat"

two houses from mine
sitting on top of a car
sat the cat

with one leg straight up
and missing one ear
with a sneer it told me

on this night
i will sneak in,
and steal your breath.

Trying hard not to
But failing misarably
Falling asleep here

this fly pesters me
now i require revenge
grandma has a cock

chair squeaks under strain
silver tears threaten to fall
on blurred handwriting

Summer, Winter, Spring.
I fucked Sophie Marceau
in my dreams. I did.

47880 poems of shit
Yours stinks just as bad, dude(ette)
My balls itch badly.

Effing Summer. Hot.
Ask no fucking questions.
Trash. Rubbish. Garbage. There.

Well one has to ask
Why bother comming back though
if you write rubbish?

faintly frostbitten
image bleeds, riderless pure
dockyard escapes, hoarse

faintly frostbitten
image bleeds, riderless pure
dockyard escapes, hoarse

rude unclouded fierce
honey reflects, roaming gnomes
glitter, parroting

hissing eel groaning
pirate defecates drily
mumbling, willowing

destitute bleak late
pikes preying riverbeds lick
childishly, casks lame

ripples hover, fleas
darkening incredulous
ghostly hardfisted

sheepishly, quail fumes
aching inspiring shepherds
look darkly, tall ponds

ripples babble, breasts
flailing, grayly, refugee
hobbling rogues jab

drily, tree leaning
bafflingly, orchid flailing
delirious brown