piss
nom piss on this 051206
...
ovenbird I'm sure I've pissed out
every poem
tangled in the tumult
of my foaming guts.
There's nothing here
that rhymes,
or rings,
or sings,
but the sting
of everything
that loves me
and leaves me
for dead. 		260720
what's it to you?
who go 		blather
from