Peace to the Gods, What's up?
by Johnny Crimson
Poetry ate my sister
then lapped up my dinner too.
Pastrami in a soup bowl;
just what's a whore to do?
Carnal clocks surmised to deconstruct our lies where Confucius fishes out the minnows from the flies.
Simple Jillian Potter tucks her head inside her shell,
and the more the Quakers gawk at her, the closer they come to hell.
Keep your legs crossed, bolted, chained, vice-gripped, fort knoxed, and un-pickable, capish?