Angry? Mad as hell and you can't take it anymore? Get something off your chest and it could be published online and/or in print. Bitches are anonymous and may be edited for length, grammar, spelling and our lenient standards of propriety.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Et conputruit terra
Adjusting the baggy trowsers just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a geezer in fire or lime.-
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the #10 Westphal that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Axe smells nice and people enjoy how you bathe in it. —Sid Caesar
