Caution, here is the poem dedicated to the Shining Path of Chile, readers. For the bout of listeners you will find some truth in how I “heard the shot of dung round the world” under a Croatian swimsuit that I have so long snuffed under my painted Dickie’s mulatto of pants. That’s right, a personal Croatian underpants instead of regular woolish underwear. 

This is October special, after all. It is the only alternative source that I can do on stereo systems, whether if it is cut under Baja of California, or simply messy and consistent Mexican borderline. Bear in mind that this is the NINTH month of IDES in deceptive influenza shots. For you are about to find whether if there is a thin red line between Cali-fornication recidivism- at least in mal-function theory.  

At least I like to chew the little zitty under my southeast lips since I have orchestrated the Operation El Dorado last night. It is like a cashew nutshell that I bit towards the abortive daughter of doomsey, dear Croatian whisker readers.

Here goes the unfavorable poem for some Americans:

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Although drill wills

the clock ticks

light lows and narrows

hardware after hardware blares

louder than a cry of baby ’till

clock paused at its burrow.

The drill swills

clock upon attacks

of shuffling gas pump

a murky man rescued

from spotty Talmudic ills

of a broken sugar crumb.

Swamp thing.

Croats, that is all you need to hear. I am well and alive, though my pancreas was a bit whimsy last night under a leather jack suit.  El Dorado Operation completed. See y’all next time when I come up with something to write. 

Jiri H. Stefanovich © Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved.

℠ Bad Robot