I fornicate, therefore I am
These poems have been fornicating again-
Who wrote all these?
They're multiplying faster than
A pile of pink rejection slips.
Someone drunk on life, brazen with words;
A walking miscarriage of language,
Must’ve went crazy with the typewriter.
You've been warned about writing too much before;
You'll wake up some day and see
There’s ten thousand critters, beside your name-
That you can scarcely remember at all,
And everyone will be laughing- even more
You've been warned about this before.
Who do you think you are,
Prostituting all those sentences,
Blatant overuse of colons and semi-colons;
They ought to come out and arrest you right now,
For disturbing of the culture,
Resisting status quo,
And conspiracy to waste trees and bandwidth.
I hear the FCC has a huge file on you by now.
Maybe they're just giving you enough rope.
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