This Aint News

Ze title of the poem goes here.


The first line - a dashing line - goes here.

(As the burning smoke loses it's balance on the ashtray.)

The second line being the third repeats the first.

Third would be fourth as it meandered in.

And five knows itself for the five.

Six thinks on sex and grabs the ass.


Seven likes eleven but does not know why.

Eight would be always late without nine.

Nine is bored with this poem and all the bones.

A full bladder sends ten to the bathroom.

Eleven thinks seven is a fool and a drunk.

Twelve will have nothing to do with these words.


The luck of thirteen screams from it's dream.

Proud is fourteen, for no good reason.

Grabbing fourteen, fifteen sends a bitch slap.

The mutterings of sixteen makes fifteen pause.

Eleven fucked seventeen while thinking on nine.

The poem ends and eighteen numbers the line.


- DMP