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Gary Colemans Coffin

by Brenton Downunder 19 days ago in surreal poetry · updated 17 days ago
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(If Victor Frankenstein was a poet...)

i'm the bloke who put up the no running sign

on the wall in the amputee recovery ward

i put razors in lollies and let them lay where they will

i chuck broken up asbestos into suburban land fill

i'm the one who kicks your bin over and flings your rubbish up the street

i'm the dirty cunt from coles that puts my fingers in the meat

it was me that farted in the lift

that made you spew in your throat

but then you coughed and lost the lot

and spewed all over the boss' Armani coat

i'm an arsehole i'm a scumbag i'm a lowlife piece of shit

taking advantage or taking cover you gotta take what you can git!

i have no filters and i care even less

i'm here to fuck up i'm here for the mess

i came in your mouth of course its home baked

i just sent you a cheque my orgasms are faked

i poke holes in the bread bags at woollies i put empty boxes in bins

and the steepest street in this shitty town is where i tip out my empty cans and tins

i wallow in a melancholic apathy while pretending to understand

i only ask to be courteous and fuck your fucking plan

i tend to talk a lot of shit i tell a lot of fucking lies

but never be mistaken and accord merit due to size

you probably gathered that the only thing i like about you is your old grey cat

went to a Hollywood funeral; something i do quite often

and when no one was watching i tipped over Gary Coleman’s Coffin

Let your inner dialogue read this out aloud: Hi its me you know, $3 bourbon in a $70 bottle, homebrand pie in a Sara Lee box. Tighter than a fish’s arsehole meaner than a hungry dog. I’m so low i could parachute out of a snakes arse and still have time to pull the rip cord. Does your house have a tin roof?, I love throwing rocks. Are you happy?.... hold that thought ...how adaptable to change are you? Like Kevin said – you better fuckin brace yourself…

on my way home today i saw a one armed woman

driving an early model european sports car i waved and she crashed

i saw a beggar with a cup crouched on a downtown corner

he put on his best disheveled face; coin on a string feels and steals

i often leave bad comments on random forums and unsecure sites

and sometimes just some of the times i convince myself i heard a digital sob

i like to hokk up big oyster like phlegmy lungers and cough them into the potato salad at your nearest self-serve all-you-can-eat

i punched a penguin at the zoo once smelly squiddy fishy chicken cunt fuck that was funny

i punched a penguin

i punched a penguin

i punched a penguin

i punched a penguin

i punched a penguin

i shit under peoples doormats in the middle of the night

when nothing else is open - my bowels are

29 genders and broken toaster the toaster bothers me

it doesn’t get to vote or desensitize little’uns!

Microsfot sent me a letter

i'm banned from adding words to their stupid dictionary

- just underline my shit some more

surreal poetry

About the author

Brenton Downunder

Something different, something new, something bold & something crude. Please venture forth and sample my cathartic offerings, a filter less journey to the future and the past, the now's that could have been and the things we do not see.

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