One-Trick Pony (Censored) Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Upon the mounding b-llsh*t
The one-trick pony
Clicks his heels
And whinnying, lifts his tail.
Rancid green apples
Drool down and plop,
Summiting the head of a
Ludicrously happy centipede
Who is eating it up.
The one-trick pony seems to grin
But this is only because
The last two clean shaven
Jews have cut off his lips
In a bauched circumcision:
A Catch-22:
If you’ll F— me,
I won't F— you,
No matter what you do.
Now everything is for sale.
Entrepreneurs who smell like
Incest with your favorite aunt
Are getting pennies on the dollar.
The new god is crucified
For a used car which is
Driven west and ditched
In the Pacific.
The world is a fire sale.
The cities are pitching mounds
For nuclear strike outs.
Everything is returned to dust.
Like territorial highbreds,
Fathers ingest their
Screaming newborns
And mothers m-sturbate
Their lactating t-ats
Just to get a glass of milk.
All around the world
The sky is being torn away
Like shingles on a roof in a tornado
By toothy mobs
Of black hole angels.
With their lips they $uck up
Lost souls as if through giant
Pixie-sticks,
And bodies walk around homeless.
As The Man comes around,
Virgins are trimming their wicks.
The last two clean shaven Jews
Share a kosher hot dog
As they slant their eyes a
Little upwards with
Greedy wonder
As the one-trick pony
Clicks his heels and grins like death
Strutting in his five minutes of fame
Higher and higher upon the ever mounding
Bull$h-t.