by William Theseus

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In front of the Tropical Garden Restaurant,
The jasmine bushes smother me with
     fragrant kisses;
On the foliage of the bushes,
A pair of butterflies are locked in love;
In the Save-A-Lot parking lot,
A boy and girl meet and kiss-a-lot;
Another couple embrace and kiss
Before loading up their groceries.
Down in the park, the ducks are fucking--
It's springtime--breeding time.

   Shakespeare Lost

Ethnicity is a curse
That traps in its universe
And bends life through its prism
Into an ethnicism.

With ethnic perceptions deployed
And universal life destroyed,
The writers in this universe,
Can only write about the curse.


Think every day about dying,
But not in a way for crying;
Think rather what life is giving--
One more precious day of living.

Savor each minute of the day,
Whether you're at work or at play;
Our life is only one brief spark,
Before the everlasting dark.


The trouble with love is it has no legs.
It's mostly about fertilizing eggs.
Shakespeare may claim love is born in
      the heart,
But it's between the legs it gets its start.

     Poor Fellow

Pity the poor fellow
Who never takes a wife
He lives a lonely life
With no one to fight with.

                Still My Love

If the sun still rises in the morning
And I still wake in this glorious world
And still hear the birds singing songs of love,
My first thoughts will still be of you my love.

                   Two Reasons

Musing about war and killing on the earth,
A truth emerges explaining this curse:
There are two reasons war is always at hand
And both hang between the legs of every


Money is not like water,
It does not trickle down;
It is like ice,
It floats to the top.

       Blind Idiot

What is done is done;
What will be will be;
Come bring it all on,
Blind idiot fate;
You can't make me cry,
Even if I die.

           The Wheel

Will fools never stop giving
God's reason for them living.
There is not a grand reason,
Nor is there any grand rhyme.
Nature spun the gene pool wheel,
And fate said:  Hey! it's your time.


A scoundrel is not always a womanizer
But a womanizer is always a scoundrel.
He is a brother of the dogs
That follows every bitch in heat.

          A Garden

The mind is like a garden--
It grows naturally
Into a tangle of weeds and vines;
Or it can be cultivated
Into a beautiful garden
With a bountiful harvest.

         Killing Time

We are in a war with time.
While we are looking for ways
To kill time,
Time is looking for ways
To kill us.


Think of all the people,
Two hundred years ago,
Who lived and loved and died,
And who will ever know.

Think of all those faces,
Suffused with all life's glow,
Now rotted like the leaves,
Two hundred years ago.

And two hundred years hence,
When we are only dust,
Will some sad soul look back
And shed a tear for us.


The truth is like
A nagging wife--
It will keep nagging at you
Until you agree with it.

               The Call

The rain beats steady on the ground
And patters out an urgent sound.
It calls to life seeds in the ground,
Declaring spring and life's rebound,
A call unheard lo six feet down.


One by one we exit the play;
But where we go, no one can say.
The reason we are so concerned--
Not one person has yet returned.

     Good and Evil

There is in every heart,
All the good and evil
That has ever been
Or will ever be.

   The God

I am my God;
You are your God.
It's what I do;
It's what you do,
That makes dreams come true.

      Old Friends

Though gone forever,
They leave us never.
Our long lost old friends
Are like our old sins--
They will be with us
Until our life ends.

         The Crows

There are Jim Crows
Who hate black people
And Black Crows
Who hate white people--
Both suckled at the same tit.


Pity the poor old men
Whose major concern
Is still the vagina
But with the added affliction
Of the angina.

      Go to Hell

God judging believers:
I gave you reason
But you chose myth;
You failed the test--
Go straight to Hell.

                An Old Shoe

This love that's shared between the two
     of you,
You think of as something novel and new;
A thing that's been felt by only a few;
In fact, it's as common as an old shoe.


We strive to find the path to life,
Amid the rumble and the strife;
But be we saint or be we knave,
All paths in life lead to the grave.


Man can compose a great symphony
And conceive a great epiphany.
I would be impressed by all of this
If some way he didn't have to piss.

He can fly men through space to the moon
And create things that are a great boon.
These things would shine not a little bit,
If he hadn't been designed to shit.

He has created gods without end
And heavens for men who confess sin.
About this I would pontificate,
If he didn't have to copulate.

Man's knowledge of nature is sublime
And he has figured out space and time.
I would see this in a different light,
If only he didn't have to fight.

But wait, I see things in the wrong light;
It's not Man's fault he must shit and
It is God that deserves all the blame;
Man who copes deserves only acclaim.

    The Ghouls

How horrifying,
That in these modern times,
There's still a ghoulish cult
That symbolically drinks human blood
And eats human flesh.

Shouldn't there be a law
To take poor children,
Caught up in this ghoulish,
Cannibalistic ritual,
Away from their parents.

    Visiting Vicksburg Battlefield

These battlefield memorials,
Built to honor the men who died,
Are only testimonials
To perverted animal pride.
They should be viewed with deepest shame
For how they mar the human name.
Like packs of snarling, mangy dogs
That meet and fight and kill and maim,
Men too meet in their snarling packs
To fight, kill and maim just the same.
The dogs slink from the fight in shame;
The men commemorate it's name.

          A Can of Worms

In the universal scheme of things,
The affairs of Men
Are of no more importance
Than the affairs in a can of worms.

   Somber Whisper

Hear the graveyard's
Somber whisper:
Nothing has any meaning;
Nothing matters;
All is inane;
All is in vain--
So sing and dance
Through life's tears and pains,
Soon the graveyard
Will claim your remains.

        Old Age

Old age
Is one of those things
You just have to put up with,
Until you get over it.

           Days and Nights

The sun rises and the sun sets,
And in between the mind begets
A shadowy wisp of being
That night transmutes into regrets.

And in the nights foreboding pall,
The mind inquires with bitter gall;
When be the day and when the hour
That eternity ends it all.


Don't cry for me,
I'm doing well;
Cry for yourself
You're still in hell. 

         The Rub

A wee nubbin was first,
Before the universe.
Rub-a-dub-dub--the rub--
Whence-forth that little nub.

     Two Things

There are two things
That rule men's lives:
Making money
And humping Honey.

         The Chasm

Pity poor woman,
She will do anything for love;
Pity poor man,
He will do anything for sex.


When the animals mate,
They are said to be in estrus.
When humans mate,
They are said to be in love.
The same chemicals
Create both afflictions.--
A madness that is not discrete--
A rising of the privates heat.
But be not dismayed
That love is chemically made,
For should women have no chemical lure,
Men would still keep them as pets--for sure.


Man Is our salvation;
He has the power and the will;
The gods are impotent--
Never to be trusted.
Depend on your brother--
Without his aid you are doomed.       

                 A Rose Garden

Considering Man's dilemma here on earth,
Explain please, what positive thinking is
It is only a ruse to delude the mind
That will only succeed with those who are
For only a fool can see a rose garden
When he's on death row and sure of no

            Restless Heart

A restless heart is never satisfied;
No matter if it were in paradise.
It dreams of places it has never been
And wants to do things it has never done.
Therefore, should it find itself in heaven,
It would no doubt long to go check out


The more you risk,
The more you live;
The less you risk,
The less you live;
Risk nothing,
And you're dead.

  A Very Bad End

Old folks used to say:
A smoking Woman
And a crowing hen
Will surely come to
A very bad end;
But why this was so,
They were loath to say;
Nowadays we may--
Both are poor to lay.

        The Love Bug

Love is something you catch,
Like a cold or the flu;
Often from somebody
You hardly even knew.
But to the old love bug
You must become inured,
Because it may take years
Before you're really cured.


Most Men receive life's meaning from a god,
But some Men look for answers here on earth.
They see a desperate struggle from birth,
Where nature seeks to determine their worth.


Feelings of inferiority
Are easily taken--
It's inferiority
That can't be shaken.

           Sand Markings

The tide creeps in upon the beach,
Erasing writings lovers made;
So too, the tide of life creeps in,
Erasing plans that Men have laid.


Nature's design of gender attraction,
Evolved to spark a special reaction,
Consummated by an intradiction
That employs a novel use of friction.

           It Just Happened

The adulterer knows what he's doing--
He has to talk up the fuck.
The woman says: We're just good friends.
After the fuck she says: It just happened.

           What Point

When a hen sits on her eggs,
At what point do the eggs become chickens?
When an egg is implanted in the uterus,
At what point does it become a human?

   The Age of Reason

The age at which a man
Ceases to believe in Santa Clause,
Sprits, fairies, spirits,
Angels, devils, and gods,
Varies with intellect.


Art is like a fart--
An evanescent essence
Of a reality
That provokes emotion--
No emotion, no art.

                Miss America

The unenlightened pan beauty contests;
But it's upon these that our future rests.
Just as we judge our breeder mares with
It's wise to judge our human breeder mares.

              The Creator

Regressive minds reject evolution
And cling to mythical convolution.
They reject the truth of their own senses
And believe some scribbling from Genesis.
Why will they not accept what's evident,
When each day they smell their own
What kind of god would create such
     as that?--
He who did worse with the shit of a cat.
It's a bungling god that created shit--
Man as creator would have improved it.
Why worship a god so inept and crass,
That he requires poor man to wipe his
And further adds the abomination,
Of poor women's monthly menstruation.


Tis a pity tis true;
Tis true tis a pity,
That the truth
Is often shitty.

     Poor Annie

Poor Annie Dillard,
Who loves sticks and stones,
Old fossils and bones,
And green croaky frogs,
And old buggy logs,
And snakes under rocks,
And fields of corn shocks,
And little tadpoles,
And worms in dark holes,
And weird northern light,
And strange sounds at night;
But if truth be told,
People leave her cold.

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