A Thorn By Any Other Name Still Pricks

This might look like a sonnet, but it’s not.
For one, it hasn’t any sort of rhyme
(Much less a scheme); for two, it lacks a lot
Of lines, although fourteen could come with time.
It’s not Italian, that much is clear,
Or we’d have seen lines two and three reversed
Which makes no sense. Spenserian? I feare
That mae be sowe–mye spelyng’s faire acurs’d.
But hold: a b a b b c b c
c d c d e e’s what Spenser wrought;
Though there’s a growing scheme, it seems to be
(So far, at least) the sort that Shakespeare sought.
It’s not a sonnet…well, it’s sonnet-ish.
It doesn’t matter. Call it what you wish.

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This is not my fault
It was like that when I came
Look at someone else

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A side effect of loving cheese
Is turophiliac disease
From which your hope of getting well
Proports inversely to your smell
Since only truly funky odor
Motivates the casual voter
Who from loud complaint might shrink
Were you diffusing paler stink.
“If no one’s moaning, what the heck,
Let’s go to town on Pont l’Eveque,”

You might decide in absence of
The social forces named above.
Those happy hermits know the score:
The friendless binge on Roquefort!
If you ride public buses, though,
Please keep away from Brie de Meaux.
Treat gently with your neighbor’s nose, and
Think about the cheese you’ve chosen;
Please, ensure that no one’s there
Before you cut that Camembert
De Normandy or Stilton (Blue).
Confused? Defensive? Get a clue:
Lest turophilia be beaten
Out of you, watch what you’re eatin’.

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Wipe your feet, your mouth, your nose,
Your eyes, your face, your derriere,
And after you’ve wiped all of those,
Please wash your hands. The towel’s there.

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The Best Part Of Freaking Out

Nothing that you’ve ever done
In life can really set you up
To deal maturely with a spider
Crawling from your coffee cup
Across your lip and up your nostril
While you take a healthy pull
But let me tell you after that
From then ’till lunch is mighty dull.

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I Know Man

So I sd, start
with a hic-
coughing chick-

en & see
it takes you–

the water sur-
rounds us, what

duck it’s a god
damn duck
just hold yr breath

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Kerouac’s Haiku

Kerouac’s haiku
Measures truth as right or long
Sparrow crushing leaf

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