Out of Sight…

spiders get around most freely
out of sight and out of mind
fiendishly partaking in some really
questionable crimes
some are stealing errant crumbs
while others might be playing dumb
some I’ve heard meticulously
fuss over cleaning their guns
why must they be up to no good
can’t we all just get along
it just seems odd that they should
keep trying to swipe hits from my bong
weird thing is when they become stoned
spiders have a gay old time
watching episodes of star trek
golden girls and classic vines
look out though, for when their munchies hit
they take no prisoners
trust, you would prefer not to
like Bartleby the scrivener
oh my god they’re so obsessed
with watching me all night and day
every time i start to undress
i hear every word they say
maybe if they had some business
of their own i could relax
sadly it would seem their interest
is quite honed in on my back
what i mean to say is my bum
boy, they just can’t get enough
then again, it’s kissed by the sun
chiseled, and bulbously buff
countless times have i looked up
to find a spider mid-descent
typically, they hover just
to read facebook and make comments
privacy is really just a quaint notion
it’s sad to say
for spiders reign ubiquitous
over each moment, night or day
even if they have intentions
of becoming my best friend
they might at least try to mention
this to somehow make amends
as it stands i swear on my life
they won’t rest until i’m dead
how else did my set of steak knives
wind up underneath the shed
don’t you for one second think
i don’t know of their secret club
i still receive the weekly e-mail
some of which i truly love
judging from the things i’ve read
we’d hit it off quite famously
they seem to dig the talks on TED
almost just as much as me
if i wasn’t so damn shy
perhaps i could initiate
but to them, I am just a fly
awaiting on a silken fate
they’re not like their creepy cousins
building nests from human hair
spiders spin a lustrous gossamer
to weave their webbed lair
sure, at times they might get peeved
and inflict a most painful bite
this is how most spiders grieve
their spouse you swallowed just last night
follow my advice and keep that
gaping orifice shut well
you don’t want to hear all of the stories
that I have to tell
please just feel their fuzzy fur
they’re cuddly like a teddy bear
spiders rock, you must concur
you’d better, for they’re everywhere

Hidden Facets

There are many personas contained within each individual’s name which reveal themselves through, of all things, anagrams. Uncovering these hidden personas is an old pastime of mine. I now present to you the anagrams of Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton.  Feel free to interpret these as you wish…


  • doldrum pant
  • mud rod plant
  • odd rum plant
  • darn lump dot
  • torn dad lump
  • add torn lump
  • plum odd rant
  • lump and trod
  • odd lamp runt
  • mad porn lout
  • odd palm turn
  • torn lamp dud
  • damn plod rut
  • mad runt plod
  • darn mud plot
  • lard ton dump
  • land dump rot
  • old rant dump
  • dolt ran dump
  • rump and dolt
  • dump lord ant
  • lord damp nut
  • old damp runt
  • darn dump lot
  • darn dolt ump
  • dump lord tan
  • pot drum land
  • mud land port
  • odd lump rant
  • dun mold part
  • dun tarp mold
  • dun mold trap
  • dun malt drop
  • dun old tramp
  • dun dram plot
  • palm trod dun
  • lynch a trillion
  • nor a chilly lint
  • archly loin lint
  • i lynch oral lint
  • horny lilac lint
  • lint i call horny
  • lit crony in hall
  • an ill crony hilt
  • alt crony in hill
  • richly anon till
  • charity inn loll
  • trill in halcyon
  • chilly loin rant
  • no thrill in lacy
  • ill thorn in clay
  • holy rill cat inn
  • a rich nylon lilt
  • lint on rich ally
  • lay rich toll inn
  • all rich yon lint
  • rally on nil itch
  • i only rant chill
  • only a trill inch
  • ninth coil rally
  • con inlay thrill
  • i can roll thinly
  • ill lynch ration
  • loin lynch trail
  • i lynch in a troll
  • lynch all in riot
  • nil to lynch lair
  • lot in lynch lair
  • ill tinny choral
  • thy ill carol inn
  • thy ill thorny clan
  • hilly clan intro
  • i thrill clan yon

Cautionary Tail

a boot was lodged in my caboose
the day i shook an apple loose
from high atop its lofty perch
where once it fell i thusly searched
but though i heard it hit the ground
it seemed that it could not be found
this apple had been such a prize
it quickly became of my eye
i knew i dare not let it fall
into a den where earthworms crawl
the sound it made seemed to suggest
it landed ‘neath a nearby nest
that housed a rather irate bird
which i had recently disturbed
and as i looked i heard it mocking
dousing me with many droppings
i resolved nary a wrath
would steer me from this apple’s path
perhaps it rolled away i thought
but soon a hole found my foot caught
which sent me lunging toward a bush
brimming with thorns which pierced my tush
i looked to see my boot was stuck
when from behind my head was struck
by many discontented squirrels
in shock i watched their fury unfurl
with such profusity ne’er seen
did acorns rain upon my dream
in spite of this, i forged ahead
and trampled through a flower bed
attended by a perturbed granny
swinging as to strike my fanny
with her rake with aim precise
assailing me not once but thrice
and when it seemed that all was calm
a beehive landed like a bomb
releasing plumes of raging bees
who did not seem to hear my pleas
they stung me until i ballooned
into a bulbous red buffoon
at which point one would think to quit
but this man never would submit
i then retraced my steps to see
my prized apple’s trajectory
which much to my shock and surprise
atop the tree did it reside
with one boot on i made the climb
to reach the limb where it did lie
but as i inched along its branch
i heard a creak ever most scant
as one might guess i tumbled down
and when my bottom touched the ground
it was then met by my lost boot
with such a force it breached my chute
and to this day it yet remains
as for the apple who can say
i beg thee take heed, hear my words
lest such a fate ever absurd
befall your precious buns of steel
when apples of aplomb appeal
apppear to be just out of reach
it might prove wise to leave them be

Fancy Free

When life doth air too serious
So weary I become
My notions turn nefarious
To whimsy, I succumb

I then proceed to longeth p’ruse
Mine Frederick’s catalogue
To sate my need for silken rouge
And frilly lace corsage

Of course they must be crotchless
Lest I err a thoughtless cad
And should I dare wend topless
Throw some pasties in the bag

With preference for tassels
‘Tis a hassle otherwise
I might start feeling sassy
Thus, such foresight would suffice

Ne’er I display such imprudence
Hence, I buy in bulk
For countless corsets have i torn
asunder with mine hulk

As proven on the eve
I wast locked out of mine own house
And all the poor old maidens
Swooned as if they’d seen a mouse!

Did grant, I may stand
Two inches just over six feet tall
With brawny build and buns that filleth
Panties with a sprawl

Which tend to draw the ire
Of the gentry’s night patrol
Who seem to never tire
Of cruising past me ever slow

Why then, would anyone
Blame a lad for simply trying
Were I to say I did not look
Hawt in lace I’d be lying!

And thou knowest quite well
This spectacle sings flourishing
Within the theater of thy mind
Where it is now showing

For none dare intermit
The thought of such a rogue delight
Frolicking in flowery peignoirs
All throughout the night

“Dissociative Apathetic Neurosis” ~a meme~


for my fellow Plath crushers, i now present, in the spirit of the Kermit the frog distractedly drinking his tea “But that’s none of my business” meme format:


“Dissociative Apathetic Neurosis”                                  ~a meme~


img_2419

Ode to Scutty’s Buns Revisited

mister scutty.

buns.

mine eyes take to sea
draped in black damask

ask, upon what merit

to what do i owe
thy fine mask of sinew

in shadowed remorse
i lay vexed

exquisite.

a freedom formed
born of toilsome task
such winsome,
this ass

grasping in folly
i falter, forlorn
this finest of fannies
far more than fixed eye
could e’er hold candle to

sand doth sift
and so shifts time

o buns of golden mote
i dote on this fire
to hold what is naught
but a phantom fandango
so taut with transgressions
in visions foretold

foreboding alabaster sheath
aglow
no, asunder
plundering depths
taste tears of sallowed vitae

were strength as a flower
this truth, seed and all
should fall as the hour
when tower doth beckon

thy buns!
thy buns!

o scutty!
skyward flesh effused
obfuscated realms of sordid sanctity

below is a shifting
uplift yea!
uplifting

muted trepidation
threat or compliance

lo, golden buns of stardust waver

o scutty!
buns that scintillate liquescent
‘neath the moonlight’s tremble

in cries of haute

wielding scepter

Ode to Seth’s Legs

leaping like flames licketh brisk
summer air at which hour dawn yonder
showered eyes upon vigorous brace
the quintessence of equine preeminence

evincible glints grace glamorous mincing
thunderous echoes exuding lengthwise
exalted demise, dem legs, mine eyes

such spectacle sprawling
splendiferous in spades
defined restriction depicted
did clothe in denim

invoking a madness incurable

lest ye deftly caress with impetuous duress

o seth

shouldst thou presage to press
mine pith upon thine thigh
with haste alloweth this chaste cheek
to seek ambrose abrade

my dismal display in ardent diremption
come forth, cleave the alcove in twain
splaying resplendence
in resonant reverie

grant me the gifts of thy getaway sticks
for all of wast forsaken
in a moment so sacred
hadst cradled relentless reprise amidst repose

the length exceeds all
organic, alchemic
infusing frenetic dendritic rust rushing

clutching loincloth
enlivening languet

protrusions doth jut from jointed quadrant
afire with desire to sate with imminence
sinuous steel sinking into silken steps
where cries of compromise clingeth in clawed clamor

i stammer to stutter
shuddering bethought
on what brink wouldst i quaver
in savory slopes sweltering
neath sheltering shade

abating mine anguish
a solitary stolen wish

illustrious bough how hath thee so rendered
this tender heart smitten in prism of fire
did shape in dulled shackles of ashes erstwhile
whence harrowing spires spewed renewal

stricken with awe
unguarded guffawing
imparting the upstarts to uncharted enclave

o seth, alloweth thy sturdy stilts strapping most sweltry
to forge mine rod, sodden
in sweat born of strenuous struggle

straddling triumphant
promethean spruce
in predestined densities
and foregone clairkinesis

entwine me in thine tendrils of sooth

Timeth of Day

every inkling inked upon
this parchment which thee followeth
prose composed, of blood t’was forged
in mine own drops of sorrow
still, displayed in erred ways
as though t’were born of naught
the truth beholden to beest told
in moments seldom sought
to some seemeth incessant
streams of trite grandiloquence
though none has’t seen such broken dreams
smite mine own countenance
i’ll not recant if thou wouldst grant
thine audience of heart
through such eyes thou dare not encave
from truths these words impart
and though verbose these thoughts
impose upon thee with intent
so doth convey mine own dismay
allaying consequence
if thou protests, i wilt request
with haste beest on thy way
for i’ve not might, to grant
the likes of thee timeth of day

Cult of the Old Factr’y – Utterances of Cheese – as told by Maximillian

lo, thy olfactory omnipresence
savory sanctity so lingering
pungent pricks of pleasured palate
poised to propitiate the pleiades
senses ravished
in epicurean ecstasy
textures of silken strands

sprawling rendezvous
in rapturous eros
entice and entwine
with fleeting flecks of piqued nuance
purloined from a heaven
extrinsic to man
born of cultured cupids
cuprite and clover
whimsical wafts
wreak war on the will
if not soon sated
sallow to swoon

fallow yet fraught
with wistful recall
i worship thine walls
of winsome
immured
vagabond vices so vexing
so virile
encompassing each crevice
acrid
acute
abiding
absolute.

wicked.
when wax wheels wander wayward
waxing whimsically of wanton whiff
viola!
be not the wastrel of stinging buds
surrender
and sate the savory soul
or scoot swiftly on yonder
dim heathen

revel in this

the fête of the turophile

Cult of the Old Factr’y – Utterances of Cheese – as told by Maximillian

Max Meunier

lo, thy olfactory omnipresence
savory sanctity so lingering
pungent pricks of pleasured palate
poised to propitiate the pleiades
senses ravished in epicurial ecstasy
textures of silken strands, sprawling rendezvous
enrapturous eros entice and entwine
in fleeting flecks of piqued nuance
purloined from a heaven, extrinsic to man
born of cultured cupids
cuprite and clover
whimsical wafts wreak war on the will
if not soon sated
sallow to swoon
fallow yet fraught with wistful recall
i worship thy wall of winsome
immured
vagabond vices so vexing, so virile
encompassing each crevice
acrid, acute, abiding, absolute.
wicked when wax wheels wander hitherto
waxing whimsically of wanton whiffings
viola!
be not the wastrel of stinging buds
surrender and sate the savory soul
or scoot swiftly on yonder, dim heathen
revel in this, the fête of the turophile

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