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I have killedI have helped killI have killed part of myselfI cannot change this, II must seek BhuddahI must seek Christ
The answer is "A Gregorian Chant".What do I win?
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Is someone going to write some poetry here at some point?
The pulsing stops where time has been,The garden is snow-bound,The branches weighed down and the paths filled in,Drifts quilt the ground.We lie soft-caught, still now it's done,Loose-twined across the bedLike wrestling statues; but it still goes onInside my head.- Thom Gunn~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~What a thrill--My thumb instead of an onion,The top quite goneExcept for a sort of a hingeOf skin,A flap like a hat,Dead white.Then that red plush.Little pilgrim,The Indian's axed your scalp.Your turkey wattleCarpet rollsStraight from the heart.I step on it,Clutching my bottleOf pink fizz.A celebration, this is.Out of a gapA million soldiers run,Redcoats, every one.Whose side are they on?O myHomunculus, I am ill.I have taken a pill to killThe thinPapery feeling.Saboteur,Kamikaze man --The stain on yourGauze Ku Klux KlanBabushkaDarkens and tarnishes and whenThe balledPulp of your heartConfronts its smallMill of silenceHow you jump --Trepanned veteran,Dirty girl,Thumb stump.- Sylvia Plath~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~she being Brand-new;and youknow consequently alittle stiff i wascareful of her and(havingthoroughly oiled the universaljoint tested my gas felt ofher radiator made sure her springs were O.K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked herup,slipped theclutch(and then somehow got into reverse shekicked whatthe hell)nextminute i was back in neutral tried andagain slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(mylev-er Right-oh and her gears being inA 1 shape passedfrom low throughsecond-in-to-high likegreasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinityavenue i touched the accelerator and giveher the juice,good(itwas the first ride and believe i we washappy to see how nice she acted right up tothe last minute coming back down by the PublicGardens i slammed ontheinternalexpanding&externalcontractingbrakes Bothatonce andbrought allofher tremB-lingto a:dead.stand-;Still)- ee cummings
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she being Brand-new;and youknow consequently alittle stiff i wascareful of her and(havingthoroughly oiled the universaljoint tested my gas felt ofher radiator made sure her springs were O.K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked herup,slipped theclutch(and then somehow got into reverse shekicked whatthe hell)nextminute i was back in neutral tried andagain slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(mylev-er Right-oh and her gears being inA 1 shape passedfrom low throughsecond-in-to-high likegreasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinityavenue i touched the accelerator and giveher the juice,good(itwas the first ride and believe i we washappy to see how nice she acted right up tothe last minute coming back down by the PublicGardens i slammed ontheinternalexpanding&externalcontractingbrakes Bothatonce andbrought allofher tremB-lingto a:dead.stand-;Still)- ee cummings
This is a pretty fantastic poem (and probably one of the dirtiest that I've ever read). Well done.
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The Red Wheelbarrowso much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the whitechickens.-William Carlos Williamsum... this may only be a joke that i get. dutch would probably get it too.

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Is someone going to write some poetry here at some point?
Yes, but because I'm a classless, inadvertently racist product of MTV, I only know how to write in multi-degree-offense-educing battle form:I'll nullarize your product; 0 Spade = #1, son—Dutch! = Crunkness; the new factorial functionMy math raps detach cats, while cliches flash like Mac gatsMy style be affected, but be affecting my cash stacksMy shrill poems decrease domes, by reinforcing lines known? My ill chrome unleash stones, and violate the haters, sonMy lame fits retard wits; relinquish act forthwith?My ‘flamed whips bombard chicks – now cue St. Tropez trips
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Roses are red.Violets are blue.Suck on my dick.Then swallow my goo.
Ah, I believe this is one of the great masterpieces by a certain Andrew Dice Clay, no?
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There once was a man named Horatio,Who hoped to achieve auto-felatio,So he bent at the back,But he found that he lacked,The proper stretch to penis-size ratio.

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