There once was a turd put to the test
who stunk poetically at his best...

The curtain drawn
in front of clouds...

Strive for the new,
treasure the old...

Silence soothes me much like the winter cold
I learned to love numbness as I grew old...

When the reaper goes for a ride
those who are not ready should hide...

Whether working with wood
or repairing machines...

Seeking asylum in a virtual pub
is like taking a bath in a two inch tub...

Wailing of sticks and stones
paper and powder...

The caffeine in my cup
sugar in my candy...

You remained a virgin until you were Twenty-two
when you were much younger seems the producers...

The moon yawns
before dawn...

While waiting for fall to breathe
its very last breath...