Tuesday, January 12, 2010

A POEM

Curse thy name thou art the spawn of pure evil.

A great and terrible contraption

Procurer of smut, anarchy and pure dribble

Thou art not benign

Leaving taste of cyanide

To be written in despicable lore

In Babylon thou would be a whore

From shores east to west

In guise a hideous portrayal

Thou art baseless relative incest

Burn thy records scratch thy mark

Between ocean beasts and thee

I will sleep with the shark

In lies thou elate

In truth thou defame

The sewer thy cradle

Thy taste, the same

In lack of all that is holy

Have thou a name?

Thou art the “iclicker”

No comments:

Post a Comment