Any-who, there's one thing I really want to write but I'm not sure if it's the time to yet. I'll get back to you on that one.
Anyway heres one of my best poems, written at Angus's work (red rooster)
two fat men eating
At the end of the tub
of who knows what
he scraps with well rehearsed
well practiced
expertise
He puts it in his mouth
quickly
licking his fingers
disgusting, yes, but
precise also,
an action that has been
perfected, well rehearsed,
well practiced
The other speaks through
greasy lips, gutturally
from deep down in the huge
expanse of his
round center
Though its filtered through
a ruined throat,
one can just imagine pieces of lunch of
yesterday wedged in next to
afternoon tea, dinner and dessert
Dripping
waiting for room to clear
in the enormous insides
The first suck the extras
from between his teeth
he packs away his containers
with that same
well rehearsed, well practiced
Preciseness
The second rolls around on his seat
perhaps uncomfortable,
waiting for his unpredictable bowels
to move
He speaks again and the guttural
voice returns
now even more distorted by the recent
not quite ingestions
They irritate me
with the way the have become
like its natural
they get up to leave and as they stand
I feel as if I am the chairs they were
sitting on
released of a hugely unwanted weight
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