Dutch my Dinner Pt. 1 Or how I left out some Scraps for my Kitty

I want to dutch with your dinner

I want to take you half way home

I want to crawl up on you baby

For a little cuddle-snout

Huddlin’ with your meowth

Talkin’ dirt in your snog

honey coughing LAzy smog

Not always hazy” spoke a sainted mog

neither man nor god nor dog, upon me travel’s still

“though lovely there, living in Mills, but there are earthly demons.

Perhaps not heaven’s delights.”

He walked on his way after giving us the pamphlet.

It spoke of a Heaven on Earth,

That was enumerated in our atoms, not designed, more imagined,

Sitting here, my little butterflies began to flit and float and fly away

And everything’s stillborn blue

And beautiful, North of The Wall.

Underground: A black pit, viewed only by the Drow, beaten back by a… And on and on.

Was he pitchin’ fiction or religion? I wasn’t sold but it had a cool design so I didn’t throw it right away. You know, these days, riding my bike I feel it start to break, sometimes I listen and I hear a crack in my teeth and they crumble, my infrasctructure that cut out underneath all this corruption, my body, like health is a new thing, Sleeper finds smoking and red meat is perfectly healthy. Woody Allen was the last chipper chaplin a paragon’s feet swept into the poor I felt demmie-whoppers were at least half as much fattening- they had to be.” Believe me Subconcious Prattle Magazine definitely has a way with words sometimes but it’s a little akin to panhandling for gold.

Let these be legendary pants

That kept me more in than out

I walk into a bar pants with them on

Always leave without

Oh my this is a terrible limerick.


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