x
schencka
really bad poetry

Sometimes a word comes to my head, and I am compelled to create Really Bad Poetry.


In the testicular haze of twilight summer,
Long ago, after a family Nishnabotna River canoe trip,
I espied one grasshopper upon another, for reasons unbeknownst to me.

Actually we had been on a bike ride,
Cruising distances of Shelby County backroads,
And I knew the Reason for this beast w/ two backs: fervidus, aestus.

And on that canoe trip one summer day,
Near Defiance, Iowa, we took a short break, and my father,
Pseudonymously named Martin, indicated the proper means for shitting in the woods.

There were cranes, and owls,
And deer, and cows, and dirt and sex
And shit (bigger than you'd think), and Wordsworth's Nature.


Maybe not such a bad poem.


No profanes - sacred
 
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