Scratch

“Scratch” 




Sometimes my peanut’s penis rubs me wrong.
Like a beautiful song.
Shake, bake, rattle, and roll, and I’m only six years old.
I’m always searching for new ideas but they have all already been done.
Like everything under a sun.
No fun getting a butterfly net and trying to catch ideas when there are none.
They should be thrown in jail for playing jokes.
The jokes smoke coke through a straw.
Straws in my drawers.
Romulus et Remus pugnabant.
So was all of Rome.
That’s why I try to quote a decent poem.
Use jelly foam’s steam to make buttered cream.
Everything fails to be what it tries to dream.
It is not what it seems to deal.
In wet dreams.
Only screams.
That float in a mind’s silver screen's streams.
The forests are seared by fire water’s smoke.
No joke.
But done before the dawn.
On the wet front lawn.
It’s really sick but reason will do the trick.
Two to five for minding the business’ business.
Look, who makes amends meets in the streets.
Someone who has to walk beats.
Remembering even a new reality with all of its mentality.
The beep, beep, of an alarm’s car.
Always blasting but never casting a shadow on my day.
There’s nothing more to say.
But ideas don’t cost, they pay!





By Jon Billet -06/24/2014