Me: tishy tishy turned into a fishy
and ate up 500 worms
he burped and belched
Tisher: What
what is this
this is gross
Me: and his little eyes squelched
and puked out all of the germs
Tisher: Jeez no
I hate these new poems
give me the classics
Keats.
Browning.
Petrarch.
Here were men who could write about an eye exploding from worm eggs
and move you to tears.
Me: Sorry Tishy
little wormmy worms have already eaten
and shitty shit shit out those moth eaten stanza queens
their echoed ghoul groans can't stop the modern man rhyming lend with land.
Tisher: Help ghosties succor me,
fly me to my reading room!
Ghostums, goblettes, spookalinos, tiny critters of the spirit world! whisk me away!
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