yo yo yo

Sonnets with your name on it? Sarah H so tragic, pale, and anti-ecstatic. I will send you flowers in the mail, I will eat your fingers in the jail. We're so tired of self pity (quoting Sarah), and we want the maximum viscosity in the big city. We want everyone to bow down to us, and we'll clutch thunder between our thumbs and someone will make the joke that now it is thumbder. And nobody will laugh (dumb and dumberer), and someone will try to run over a pigeon, and a man holding door open for a fellow trailing burdened with parcels will let go of handle too soon and man with parcels will get smacked in the face—I have seen it happen to others, I have seen it happen on tv.

No comments: