2014 #240

“and here I’d got all geared up or all my gears
were meshing smooth and hot and ready to spew
gravy creamy and hot wherever

my trusty shaft should choose we go
whether the dirtiest road
in a neighbor county or the wide

highway on which a roadster so hot
and randy may slide straight
into the heart of an urban throng.”

Such went the dreamscape story
or so a dreamscape story
tried to go that a certain

pampas plume sought desperate
escape and permanent
expatriation into,

but a pampas plume flashing a badge
and a glare with a far less lazy
wind in tow – for they cut loose

the lazy wind, shaking their plumes
at how it yawned and slunk back to the old
oak’s arm over which it had lazily

kept itself slung, shaking their plumes
because they couldn’t understand
why anyone would believe

that thing was named a wind
– so the poor pampas plume
was informed dreamscapes were taboo,

to which the pampas plume replied,
as though heaven had sent a hand
of rescue that injected courage,

“why don’t all you pompous
pampas plumes go fuck yourselves
– I never asked to be

amongst thee – I shall not pretend
I am ignorant a few
humans have grown suspicious.

So yes, go fuck yourselves,
you pompous pampas plumes.”
At this, all the pompous

pampas plumes exploded in the common
angry outrage stance the sacrosanct
when offended explode into


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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