From: "twisting in the breeze" To: "well hung words and bad..." Subject: SUB, POOR POETRY: Demeaning A Wild Verb -------- (ahem, ahem, ahem...going beyond meaning, into...) ah, me, but I enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it. *chortle* tink Demeaning A Wild Verb Copyright 1995 Mike Barker (being a paste mod crock full of bell'ed letters, with just the mildest dash of punct, lovingly displayed on a bed of spaces, delighting gourmand, gourmettish, and fetishinni tastes all alike...) Some crack and peel the shell, Then pull the sandy vein right out, With one energetic swift yank! Coring the poor verb, Discarding its truth, before (ere, err, or simply air for the spinning head) Firm teeth bite leftovers. Rubbery. Gummy. White. Quivering. Others prefer the chef do the dirt, In stainless steel and brightest cloth, With a knife, or fingers, or mayhap teeth-- Out of sight, and out of mind-- Clean that verb before it boils, And serve it cold on a bed of ice, With silly red sauce Masquerading for flavor. But the real lingual lovers know, For the taste that grinds your enamel, That sweats your forehead and Sucks your tongue-- Savor that grit. Bite into the vein, And let the brown drip... drip. drip. drip. A verb without meaning Is like a night without moonshine. It brings out the monsters In me. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=