You need a newer browser.

04/2/26   
We consider trade-ins

Learn About Rain

by Dixon LaRue
bio/email
June 23, 2003
The rain falls wet like
sloppery skittles
from the mouth of a
stupid dog.

The beautiful rain,
it coats the trees
like sex lubricant.
But that's where
the rivers come from.

The rain slides down the trees
like sweat down the crack of your ass
and puddles on the ground
where a child could drown
if it were sleeping or hog-tied
or just plain stupid.

Those puddles slink
across the soil like creeping
wet things
to form creeks,
which conspire to form streams
which fuck together into rivers.

Rivers are like a freeway
of water drops,
all the drops cutting each
other off
and screaming profanely.
You can hear them.

But it's not like a freeway
because ducks can't float
on the freeway
or logs or alligators
with frogs on their backs.
Quick! Jump in the hole with the fly!
Where frog sex can occur
and the bonus round is secured.

The rain fills up the ocean and lakes,
but in the roundabout way,
like a drunk peeing on the wall,
instead of in the dixie cup you gave him.
Nature is like that dirty drunk.
That is the lesson.


Quote of the Day
“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas! Except near Houston, Dallas or Fort Worth. Talk about your smog. Jesus, this song's gonna need another verse.”

-Clement B. Doogle
Fortune 500 Cookie
Mama said there'd be days like this, but the bitch lied. The success or failure of this coming week hinges on your proper understanding of the word "gonad," so take our advice and go buy a dictionary now, Skippy. Order lots of Chinese food this week, but don't pick it up. This week's lucky accidents: back-flip off ladder onto hardwood floor, lip caught on drain while bathtub's full, wearing flammable jumpsuit to Great White concert, 15 car pile-up.


Try again later.
Top 5 commune Features This Week
1.Vietnam: The New San Francisco?
2.10 New Ways to Weight a Body Down
3.Uncle Macho's Ethnic Pudding
4.Love: The Source of All Bad Poetry
5.Pants You Could and Will Die In
Archives
The Color of My Blade Is Chartreuse
Who can compare the green of a sunset to the gray of a ham? Or the scarlet water that trickles down very nearly without a sound as the brown sky spans overhead… Have truer words been said? The vivid purple blood that gushes from a... (6/9/03)

Mom
To stand under the eyes of mom the judging glare of mom To be shivered by hands of mom face like raisins of mom To be insulted the tongue of mom bitter questions of mom I have no job the truth to mom rent does not care ... (5/26/03)

Party Bus
Vincent Van Gogh where did you go? If you'd have just waited for me I'd have been your buddy. We could have got sandwiches and drove around in my van. That would've been pretty fun, sorry you missed it man. Ernest Hemmingway, you too... (5/12/03)

more