| Pretend you're out there on the end of that donkey dick,
Pretend you're not.
Pretend you're hot,
Or that Everyone says you're not.
Pretend you're the carrot
And not just a stick,
Pretend that the deadline isn't past
Or that your umbrella won't catch all the rain,
Pretend that the pain you know won't go away
And that the pail that you pee in has a hole after all,
Or that you'll have to marry some corpse,
Maybe Elvis or Diana, on national TV.
Don't try to live any longer than it takes
To pretend that love and hate are not the same
And to see the dance that's shoved between
This life and death (we all perspire).
Just let somebody else get their shorts in a bind,
I don't know about you,
But I don't enjoy it!
I don't even want to hear about it! |
Hmmmmm - are you trying to cheer us up, Ron?
ReplyDeleteInteresting poem. Donkeys remind me of politics at present, though -it's a sore subject.
"The dance that's shoved between this life and death"
- I especially like that line. I'm not a dancer, maybe that's why I get my... erm.. panties in a bind all too often.
I would have thought YOU were a dancer--at least, my kind! As for the rest, they can play with the donkey if they like. What do I need with a donkey, though, when I'm already an ass?
ReplyDelete