untitled
this is not the ground talking of the grody dribbles
the sand handwich he mudmaking methodical
scribbles seeing how tall they will stand joke cane
inna hand oh his blind wiles. the joint trials.
the new hipsters. my def replacements.
at times i take a shower cause i'm thirsty.
a unicorn's irish
drinking song
the belt
of
onion
owes nigh
a one
one eye on onion.
non ion
any nun, yum.
yum an onion.
can i axe you an onion
a quest onion quest onion
who will an onion ring?
i own an ion ring.
my neon knee
on an onion chair
do you own an onion chair?
how does a one
(i am a one)
cheer a one-eye chair?
oh i know i know one
for onions
how does an onion cheer?
it splits it lairs
like a chayer do.
that's how an onion chair.
10 Nursery Rhymes
Z F Y, Bopdee’s grey goog has died:
the hoss is mussy, ainit?
Button its nose, and five after close
Tip it by the spout to drain it.
Hey tittle diddles, the cream’s
in the middle
Was she any woos?
living cat, little I don’t goes a potater
The hubbard is berry infused
Litter one, litter one, but what
in circles?
To visit accordy-on.
One to buckle it funky and who-da-ya-thunky,
Poliwog put the kettle on.
Here a moo they’re-a-here
where’s the beef verywhere
a moo-hicky you’ze be in my mousies
a rockabee beeber got cribbed in the peeper
look silly to fiver his housies.
Tisky Jack Horner, when most inoppur-turner
Rubadub pop goes out of a cake
By the noonbees and saucy found baby and posse
Curds sliced E I O dressed as a snake.
The egg is all pumpy, the patty
chopsticket
my bed oh he’d Jacketer thummy.
For he sent mockingbirdy a river song of it,
an iffy faux-pas Hummy Dummy.
Ring-around Rosey, a merry-ole
washy,
say wee willy not do hokey pokey
snuffleup against me and I’ll twinker your beams
and call you macaroni.
Little boy crow, fie he hosed
caw the row,
Went a courting to disappear
And as Peter Piper pipped Little Bop-dee,
Jill climbed hi ho the dare-yo to hear.
Little miss Mucket sat besiner
And soon way ado came a wave:
Simon dove in the socket ‘long with Davy Crocket
Peas porridge don’t sit on his face.
Jack Prat fell flat on a quack,
oh sippy, sippy cat apper:
was eensy-wimptive inna little teabo
-- three bags in a bibbin, yessir
