Category: Poetry

Donate a pigeon to the Learning to Fly Foundation today, before our birds all take to the sea in the search for more plentiful food. There’s no way a pigeon would ever dip under the surface, even if all the other birds were doing it. Each flighted creature donated to our foundation will do wonders for this city’s infrastructure and self-esteem, whether or not these feathered friends contribute to anything in the way of industry. Let these winged guardians represent a token of our tireless pursuit for a more peaceful world.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, we attempted to capture the essence of total prosperity. We stopped at nothing to attain a semblance of that pipedream. After going into seventeen billion dollars of needless debt, we instead focused on the intrinsic qualities of things; we explored what differentiated them from the overwhelming majority of all other entities in the known universe. Our research mostly revolved around the acquisition of knowledge concerning the proper way to brush one’s teeth, tie one’s shoes, mow one’s lawn, etc. Through the devoted research of mundane tasks, we’ve reached the understanding that allows us to navigate the world’s blatantly obvious yet surprisingly unexcavated solutions for best living practices. No matter a person’s stature or, otherwise, rank and file status, the simplest acts are often times the most indicative of their originators’ intelligence quotients.

The pooch punted a kitten past the fence in its own original way, almost as if to say: “Hey, you’re not my cat and I don’t care for you very much.” Of course, this pooch didn’t comprehend the grave danger associated with punting this particular cat. Any other local feline would make a perfectly fine furry football, but this one happened to be the landlady’s cat (Mitsy). Mitsy let out a yowl of despair for the whole neighborhood to hear. Thankfully, our cantankerous grouch on the ground floor just so happened to be grocery shopping at the time. That pooch doesn’t know how lucky it is.

I picked a fight with the wrong inter-dimensional being today — I didn’t know whether he was coming or going.

Who put the imperial control under Farken’s watch? I understand that he could use some ego boosting, but come on! Jesus, the man lost seven of his direct reports last week! They weren’t even in battle, he just lost them on a field trip to buy galoshes for those horrendous muddy trenches (that he doesn’t know the first thing about cleaning, by the way).

Built upon prepositions and suppositions, this tempestuous piece of evidence provides no clear-cut testimony for future case proceedings. It really just stokes superstition to a raging bonfire of doubt and drunkenness. I can’t, in good conscience, let you walk away with that donut, sir. That’s all I’m trying to say.

Grasp unhinged oyster shell [razor] scraps, but don’t do it too tightly. Blood in the water will attract any number of predators. Well, any number aside from sharks. I mean, when was the last time you saw a shark in the kitchen sink? I suppose one of those plastic bath toys would closely resemble the real animals, but nobody in their right minds would mistake one of those things for a true man-eater.

Given the governor’s penchant for making pudding a snack of the ages, I’d say we have a fifty-fifty chance of making it out of the arena alive today. If he sells enough cups of pudding to satiate his royal pocketbook, then we may have a chance to escape without his wrath being rained down upon us. A rich king is a jovial king, I’ve always found. It’s too bad that he used his position as a public servant to prop himself on the shoulders of much greater men. I think he had an issue earlier in life that probably caused him to crave power like an addict craves heroin.