ÿþ<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> <html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> <head> <title>the commune: You ll learn to love it or die trying</title> <meta http-equiv="Content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> <meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="en-us" /> <meta name="ROBOTS" content="ALL" /> <meta name="Copyright" content="Copyright (c) 2004 the commune" /> <meta http-equiv="imagetoolbar" content="no" /> <meta name="MSSmartTagsPreventParsing" content="true" /> <meta name="doc-class" content="Living Document" /> <meta name="Rating" content="General" /> <meta name="revisit-after" content="5 Days" /> <meta name="description" content="More fun than you ve ever had naked." /> <meta name="keywords" content="commune news omar bricks rok finger red bagel clarissa coleman griswald dreck roland mcshyster" /> <style type="text/css" media="all">@import "../../scripts/2004/styles.css";</style> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="titles.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2"> path='../../'; edition='four'; title='Peace Frog'; byline='by Laurence Trundle Lawrence'; link='poet'; img='poet_lawrence'; </script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/topper.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/leftnav-c.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/body1.js"></script> <p> There s blood in the streets, <br /> there s meat on these sheets. <br /> What am I, sleeping with a butcher? <br /> <br /> Napping on crazy wax paper<br /> wrapped in crap vapors<br /> dreaming of walking on gongs<br /> past a sleeping pitbull. <br /> <br /> Goddamn is this song loud<br /> carpeting the air<br /> like a plumber who woke up<br /> and forgot what his goddamned job was<br /> and just started carpeting everything. <br /> Crazy fuck. <br /> <br /> Chicago s overrated. <br /> I once dated a girl from Chicago<br /> and she wasn t that great. <br /> <br /> Birds swoop down<br /> like marionettes on a string<br /> in some kind of puppet show<br /> about birds or something. <br /> <br /> Blood stains the palm trees<br /> like a toilet brush<br /> from a bloody toilet. <br /> Jesus, how did that happen?? <br /> Yuck. <br /> <br /> There s a trash can<br /> full of homosexual Easter candies<br /> if you re interested. <br /> What if there were a holiday<br /> called  Homosexual Easter ? <br /> Would you take the day off work? <br /> Or would you just show up anyway<br /> and work so nobody thought you were queer? <br /> That s a tough one. <br /> <br /> I once rode a boat<br /> through a river of sadness. <br /> <br /> Man did that suck. <br /> <br /> But I wrote a haiku on the ride: <br /> <br /> I once kissed an overweight Eskimo<br /> Don t ask, it s nobody you would know<br /> She smelled kind of crappy<br /> and she looked sort of Jappy<br /> come to think of it, what kind of chick is named Elmo? <br /> <br /> Shit, that s not a haiku, it s a limerick. <br /> <br /> Gotta remember: the Japs eat the fish, the Irish drink like fish.<br /> <br /> Christ, it s still raining blood out there. <br /> What a perfect day to call in sick. <br /> <br /> I wonder if I could still get paid if I say it s Homosexual Easter? <br /> </p> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/body2.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/etc.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/rightside1.js"></script> <a href="../1018/poet.html">Dromediary</a><br /> Long and hairy luminaries hang from the sky and dangle scary fingers downward in repose just itching to twitch and pick my nose. <br /><br /> <a href="../0920/poet.html">Ray Manatino s Half-Remembered Classics</a><br /> Jack Sprat could eat no fat but his wife was a big fat bitch. Shit could she eat, she ate all my beets and my pickled pig s feets. Next week poker s at your house, Jack. <br /><br /> <a href="../0823/poet.html">Whistlepig</a><br /> Loud and sweet, the howling of the whistlepig erects my nipples like sails taut in the wind. Sailfish taught me to win by cheating at cards like a cardinal at charms or an oriole with arms. <br /><br /> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/rightside2.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/sponsors.js"></script> <script language="JavaScript1.2" src="../../scripts/2004/bottom.js"></script> </html>