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Keyboard Touchy duke, dominionless, awaits the order from beyond. The status quo appalls. He calls the Shaman Ten to dance a rain: their urine falls. Usurper, then he ruinates the land. The king beholds his duke’s design exploding in his hand. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2006-02-18 07:10:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Yes, what we have done with this instrument!
I take this poem rather personally, foul fiend.
Reminds me of how an astute lady that once
frequented TPL reacted to a poem I submitted
concerning a certain demon (actually a little
bit inside us all) that was somewhat less
subtle than she would have liked. After some
degree of badgering from her I silenced the
matter by simply replying, "What?...you want
a politically correct demon?"
And so it is, the human condition (in this
case, the King, I take it) is best when
kicked around a little. but pissed on? Are
you still after my "tattered" little poem?
I hope we haven't "ruinated" the land passed
salvaging. But then someone had to give the
King something to think about. He was starting
to watch Oprah.
Too giddy to be offended,
JCH