#NotesOnAPoeticFart

Let's live our lives
Before the ink dries
And leaves us with nought but the nib

Oh, hiking boot, it's you alone

Supports me talofibular

When deep within a canyon grand
While traipsing towards the river sand
Past the cairns that mark the land
You disallow contort unplanned

From rolling step off rounded stone
T'would render ankle perpendicular

Okay, listen here, poetic fart, just stop it. Stop your imaginary roasting of someone too stupid to be friends with (that might otherwise have been a'ight) in the form of a country music song (because he don't read, but would he listen? I thought he might) … I will not type you.

Whoever stole those Halloween witches
Making for an angry Mrs
You lucky the doorbell faces sideways
Else your ass be needing stitches

A Band-Aid handmaid in her teflon tank
Bernie bros beside her having a wank
Rose petal roundup riding the flank
Hillbilly handlers staking the bank
Captain America walking the plank
Zeitgeist Zamboni resurfacing rank
A generation now grown we were told not to spank
Participation trophies honed into shanks
At the Battle of the Bulge we waved our white Spanx
We won't birth a new nation by firing blanks
We are self righteous. We are ignorant. We write them all off as cranks
Now please, bow your heads and let us give thanks

If you don't love Love
Then you don't know Love
Or Love does not know you
The way you do
(That or it's quite possible you came equipped, through no fault of your own, with a neurodivergent emotional processing unit incapable of introducing empathy into your data sink)

Something to read as I peed,
This was what you were to me.
Something to do as I would pooh,
My only other use for you.
Now, I've got no use at all.
I'd rather sit there in the stall
Without a bloody thing to read.
So, run along now, @Twitter feed.

The course of life, on my marksheet
Will it be scored as incomplete
When I go?

Will the gravestone's engraving
Read, "Stark fucking raving"
When I go?

Bee tee dubs, up to three verses on the hypothetical poem I'm not writing…

Will the crows
Eat my toes
When I go?

Will the smile
Last awhile
When I go?

Will Peter per apostolate
Yell, "fuck your feelings!" at the gate
When I go?

Will Peter per apostolate
Yell, "fuck your feelings!" at the gate
When I go?

Picking up from yesterday's hypothetical poetic fart, a hypothetical second verse:

Will the smile
Last awhile
When I go

Where I entertaining poetic farts today, it's highly likely one would be titled When I Go and it would start out all:

Will the crows
Eat my toes
When I go?

If less is more, then more is less
Distinction rendered meaningless
An alternative, does 'or' express
So why the f$&k say more or less?

Why do moths come out at night
So fixated upon the light
If what they truly seek is bright
Then why the f$&k come out at night

Without those crows outside my home
To whom what Murphy leaves is thrown
I'd surely feel much more alone
Whilst sitting here inside my home

Bleeding heart… and farts
This is what I have for you
Now I’ve aged passed 42
What am I now? F$&k 44
Balls hanging nearer to the floor
Than ever they have done before
Hair that made the ladies stare
Has fled now from the top my head
To live within my ears instead.