deepundergroundpoetry.com
Get Off My Plains Of Abraham, You Sick Son Of A bitch
Don't sucré me if tomorrow comes,
with a dark grammarian in shadows
editing my macabre.
Do re mi fa so, it doesn't pull my strings,
punk'd by Poe and little jackdaws.
So fuck you! and "Ring Around the Rosie."
I ain't a doctor, I'm a demented poet.
If I offend, it's because one is disillusioned
and a fool for rot. I ride my own plains of Abraham
and not a satanic jar of Milk Duds. Get a box of
Tide and wash the stans, off your pathetic lies.
Get your transgender Tickle Me Elmo, and chase
the squirrels, in your upside-down little fantasy
world. But don't poo in your nappie and do the
crappie on my dime.
Don't sucré me if tomorrow comes,
with a dark grammarian in shadows
editing my macabre.
with a dark grammarian in shadows
editing my macabre.
Do re mi fa so, it doesn't pull my strings,
punk'd by Poe and little jackdaws.
So fuck you! and "Ring Around the Rosie."
I ain't a doctor, I'm a demented poet.
If I offend, it's because one is disillusioned
and a fool for rot. I ride my own plains of Abraham
and not a satanic jar of Milk Duds. Get a box of
Tide and wash the stans, off your pathetic lies.
Get your transgender Tickle Me Elmo, and chase
the squirrels, in your upside-down little fantasy
world. But don't poo in your nappie and do the
crappie on my dime.
Don't sucré me if tomorrow comes,
with a dark grammarian in shadows
editing my macabre.
Published 2nd Mar 2023
| Edited 3rd Mar 2023
Author's Note
Dedicated to those who take up space.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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