Twilight noises

Swine fuckeries are sounds one might hear by Twilight. Some fine men, when then they can, stay sigh-lent by the Twine's light, tie'd lite for frightened night. Ten ponies know but one trick, butone tricks that have made their way up. Ears upends, opened for all, have founder's head filled tight with ponies. I for fear mein own end's friend, in then when they fiend to fend.
All these noises I hear by Twilight.







WHO BE DAT
WHO BE DAT who fat for fat had taken time to tell me so but
WHO BE DIS who fis' for fis' had made it so to take my time so
NOW I C who ALL DIS B for I CAN SAY hello. Good day.
--"poetry"




To sit here, unfocused. Ahh, it is a sit I sat, I've sat for a while.
Is it cruel to say--now, let me say it--that nothing more would I want for Birthdays than to find Old Friends whom I have loosed and beat them down with broomsticks mein? Their jaws crushed flat I'd beat them so, screaming and begging; they've never seen.
It is when drugs look better off a public toilet seat (bottom rim, maybe the lowest) that you know the place I'm in looks health. To look him straight in the face and say
"Defy you? I define you."









GrotesQueries
I let the cup of water I kept grow old at the foot of my bed. I put it to sleep a few days past and let it lie as time passed by. Fleeting. I let it age there, all alone, taking its wife for my wife. We were happy then.
This morning, I grew thirsty. A film had spread from outside in, blanketing its top with dust-feathers-salt. Sweat had spread--or were they tears?--across my room and into this cup.
Thirst was in me, I was Thirst; I drank it down and licked my lips.