Short Soiling Poems

Have you ever been a bad finger flipper
Feels SO good when the situation's a gripper
You'll know when it happens
Stead of soiling your depends
Raise the finger, stead of being a fence sitter...

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Behold we toiled
Soiling our skins
expending our strength
Breaking our bones
Sweating like covers of hot pots
Toiling, soiling, expending,breaking and sweating
Yet all was vanity and yet would be
Where God toils not with us...

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Have you ever in your life been a bad finger flipper
Feels REAL good when the situation's a gripper
You'll know when it happens
Stead of soiling your depends
Stand up, send the finger signal, stead of a fence sitter...

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Have you ever in your life been a bad finger flipper
Feels REAL good when the situation's a gripper
You'll know when it happens
Stead of soiling your depends
Stand up, send the finger salute, stead of a fence sitter...

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He sat on the seat
  nor too plain nor too plush
And when he had finished
  he gave it a flush

Down the well went ideas and thoughts
  on the ruination society had wrought...
Then he flushed one more time to silence the rant
  that he felt like unleashing for soiling his pants...

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Writer

This pen feels lifeless in my hand tonight
black blood just refuses to flow
I cannot form the words just right
soiling this page of virgin snow

Scattered about are some older works
phrases and words I scarcely know
ideas that twist like bejeweled dirks
but tonight this flesh proves fallow

One single word, the image forms
pulsing pen scribes to and fro
free will refuses to conform
my hand now can only follow

Sdallen...

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Find fine excuses for your lateness;
That way you will protect your Greatness:
A Street fight that just ended a life,
A man The  beating out of wife,
A purge that vowed to keep you at home,
A drug you took, everything A Dome …

A soiling of your wear by a car,
Your offer to trace some kid afar;
A patient guide to A Drunk who slobbers, 
A surfacing of Long-Starving robbers …

They are all Excuses for Lateness
From A-Z, Lies of Finesse....

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Some wise-man expounded that a knife and a fork
Seperate men from their simian ancestors
I'm not so sure
Certain people should show
Their true colors
And cram the food straight
Into their face
Ram the grub right 
Down their throats
Fingers and all
Grunting
Flatulating
Staring ahead blankly
Streaming grease begins swinging
From a cinderblock chin
Thus soiling their near perfect
Tuxedo
Opposing appendages are great
For ripping flesh from the bone
And fastening bow ties...

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