A [+] cross 2wo o C t O b E r s the plagiarist proves titmouse

A [+] cross 2wo o C t O b E r s

the plagiarist proves titmouseDedicated to all Haggard and Halloo Poets/ Poetesses, Editors/Editors in dresses
By Quasimofo

Th{eer}[ie] is sum ummm.. most important 2…3…4 ha-ha-cha-cha before my execution cued accordion-ly how to homebrew to the tune of a fat girl’s beginning dance lesson…(no X’s over everyday heart-break action need take traction..).

Woozy Fresh Sips of the Bloodletting are floating through town like the tromp l’oeil of an hypnotized flute.. ah shoot! my firstest novel[ty] -shirt might readest thou: “Pothead loves him some cop/Window love”..itall’s fromest the Equinox of my own Sanity.. & Two people sitting around sharing the same vulgar profan-vanity..


this is no freakshow or manhunt or turtle Pie {guess slow-n-steady didn’t win the race in this case}..Welcome to America and her Thursday Night Fun!!! We are the woman who loves maps by the moonlight with Father O’Sullivan irish cream whiskey tripling the alegria for the prelude to a kiss.. did i miss i’m hanging out with insects—curious little buggers! Between the Hands, Behind the lines [whose is any way?], the Buddha, you, I, the NNNN you’ve gots will goes jerking the heartattack string

waylaying a last minute message for a Time Capsule; ahHELLL, shall these bones live!?!? ..sure..and we can all suffocate together,

but Jesus walks with a legless doom binging off blue yarn in a basket of fingernails;

he can be seen at the SURGERY on coocoo chair lap and dos-equis hearts crossed in Ventrilocoven

mulling how we hardly ever fought for the three ochre and maroon clad monks [who]

walk into a b a r..

What? Can’t Look—-Look {?}



and what nor how to act like you still like her when she treats you so bad in public (& pubic)…well, you are the professor, after anyway, and this is maybe merely be me’s a letter to my neighbor..oh Please bossman, I am the fat man in the Blue Suit; I am the Best of All Possible love childs squirted blametheshamelessly from King Louis’ Decapitated Head Jumping Out of a vowel in the fourth month of a 33% engagement

digitally hazing La Maison Solitaire consumatively with the girl in the white Mercedes..

(“shh-shh. quiet. This is the first love poem i’ve ever actually meant so don’t let this get out” [the dream of every poet] {hubba- hubba-hummina}.


i wistish i could say ‘i‘m 27’ loving another Lucy in the Late 1980’s on these mean streets of Amerika upchuking forth the great i am: One young american’s interior monologue vieweded on a before available hotel cable show nameded: ‘Rocky vs. the American Dream vs. Nasa’…

whew! it’s you’uns who are the premies of the Stray Cat’s Orgasm…of Bert Defeated and Worn! ..Open Sesame [Street], Ernie Yaga and the forty princesses and the peas, you’re one heck of a front-runner Mormon and your instructions on calming allergies are just words speaking louder than action…

cause i‘m still poor, eating like a yuppie who shops at the Boise coop livin’ outta mary’s rooster chest…

*yes, ****the asterisk is not for me, it’s steven wright******* who is???… –Hamlet, Morality, and the Psyche of a Serial Killer (ooohh, I’m hiding my Lucky Charms!)..


We’uns are an manhunt in a baby cage tabulating the quantum constant of a fracas underbell-y ‘tring-a-ling’ won derrr ing why the funnies don’t say much, you have to read them..

..like the adventures of Pinky Dugg: Magnum Flinch or wittmeister is wisenheimer [‘s] anti-ku…? / @ $ & = I’ve gots that hawkeye in my [web] sites, and for the sake of the lie and common news … don’t get the blues little shoe-shine boy: ‘love is patient , love is kind, and all that jazz’.

We’ve had cans and pans of powdered Condensing Godot justa waiting for you—the whole world and AUSTIN, TEXAS facing the end as the Bible says along aluminum siding’s Standard Literary Agent Response: Come on berater, give me more poems in dedication to the Whooshay #1, and i’ll make you a tape of the man with the green woodpecker; then, well, we’ll all be thinking about nature and academic demonic’s eleven summer salts…such an Halverson Encounter [of the third {eye (blind cracker jack’s prize in the bottom vulcanizing kind)}]. i like the fake tats..

It m/all b/r/oils d/r/own to t/his: W/hat/eve/r yo/u do, do not think about watching Kevin Smith’s chasing amy in a East Village Theatre… [while reading a] poem written in two Starbucks[es]. …or you’ll blow your own mind out the back of your behind..

..now that’s how you go out ogling the jejunum of an avocado cartwheel while making whoop[s]ie to the bitch and the stud!.. ‘shizzle’! my originality’s gone ‘thud’!

0 thoughts on “A [+] cross 2wo o C t O b E r s the plagiarist proves titmouse

  1. I feel like I just stepped off a roller coaster going backward. Haggard & Halloo just died and experienced the motion picture of it’s past. This is a demented genius hard-shit explosion, and somewhere a toilet isn’t working properly.

  2. thx for comments, guys! i’ve always loved the titles of poems people create, so thought i’d have some fun with some…hence the ‘plagiarist’ (or flarf-igneugon)and titmouse (‘tit’les). it feels good at times to just ‘have fun’ with a poem and let the imagination go rampant, even though providing any semblance of meaning/theme may be difficult. Keep on rockin!

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