Sentence

by Violet Tiara

November 7, 2005

Gonads like nomads
of the lowlands in snowpants
eat Rolaids with barmaids,
says no man to snowman
and icicles ride bicycles
as rice pickles sing Don Rickles
and yellow bellows forth
from the fourth
porch painted by Enid
and Crosby
and Mick
who, sick in the dick
let his boiling brain simmer
and slimmer and dimmer
than
bromides of Apartheid
the Easter beast
parted ways with the
started phase with the
carted maize with the
Injuns and minions of
the party of artists
who smarting from the start is
Teddy and Betty and Anus and Morgan

and Cajuns of rice paper
paging the nice pauper
from a box on his hip
and the locks on the tip
of his hair in the air
was a sound like forgotten
dreams packed in cotton
and the angels stung
like jellyfish
and I wish
I could wrap them in plastic
and rings like elastic
would stretch as my fingers grew
and shrink when I think of you
and I personally
internationally
knew the few faces
worth facing
first basting piles of pinwheels
and miles of tin seals
barked parking instructions
and levers with suction
pulled the devil's dead function
as I grazed on glass castings
of feet that in passing
looked neat and long-lasting
until gas made me fast sleep.

Quote of the Day

“Christ on a bike! Did anybody else see that guy that looked just like Jesus Christ riding by on a bicycle a minute ago?”

-LeVonn Marthers

Fortune 500 Cookie

Last week was your best week; sorry we're late getting to you about that. From here on out, your life's gonna be shit on chips. Your dreams of becoming a major baseball star will be derailed this week by the fact that you couldn't hit a cow in the ass with a shovel. Stop using the term "Gay Bash," at once: it does not mean a fun party for homosexuals. This week's lucky Bings: Crosby, Chandler, Bada, cherries, the sound of a superball being shot out of an air cannon into an old woman's neck flap.

Try again later.

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