03 Dec




One of Misha’s children

wrote a poem about post-Sovietism.

A solipsist, by profession,

he chuckles when she cums.

She’s poisoning him slowly.

The dust like lightning in the night,

it festers through their path

since she’s not much of a housekeeper.

The Caucus states weep at their impending union.

I, personally, don’t care as much –

in fact, I walk around carelessly erect,

Writing. Thinking about a morning prayer,

and nothing much as such. So American in touch.

My feet get cold when she spends the evening

in my bed, waiting to go home to him.

Never trust a truly beautiful woman,

they will eat your fantasy

and leave you uncreative,

like lips around an exhaust.

But that’s all, and

While Fitzy wrote about the dying fall,

one of Misha’s children

wrote another poem about free trade

and dedicated it to her.


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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