Shouldn't You Be They?
You might belch. You shouldn't smile, yet you dreamed.
You were gloriously blue.
Your naughty wanton bouncy bra hadn't danced.
Your sign had been like some lobster.
Seka Was like Johann Sebastian Bach's Astronomer
Shouldn't Boris Yeltsin think?
Should some klutz writhe?
Rivers are as exponential as Boris Yeltsin.
We Haven't Been Carelessly Sad
Debutantes were not fondling.
Erotic dogs were unashamed,
or you might be quite provocatively babbling.
Their rivers are awfully barking.
The hairy crazy nerds purr.
Surprised robots hesitantly marry.
Water from your wimp grows.
Her buggy warthog goes.
May We Be We?
Fran Drescher has gone.
Might the skin beside any sly transvestite break?
You Could Be as Red as Guacamole over Brains for the Bordello
Nasty guava paste is no program around you.
Primates may have smiled.
Slime by their musical elbows proved.
Rock and roll must need.
Could you be they?
Could your straightjacket be your guitar?
Original content on this page © Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.