Slimey, incipidely white
is tripe
I don’t like paddywack
Kidneys smell of piss
Eat them if you like
But it would be remiss
To serve of them up to me
Oyster are sea salt and snot combined and drowned with horror
I’m not going to write a poem about disgusting things
Just because you want me to
It doesn’t mean I should
Or even could
Now that I’m feeling sick
Want some jellied eels?
what is it about a spider
that i can’t get out of my head?
those scuttling legs
fill me we nauseous dread
I know that they’re creative
i watched the webs they build
yet something deep inside of me
yearns that they be killed
you may not be aware
when a spider enters the room
but i always see them instantly
a little black splash of dark gloom
i have tried so hard to like them
i have let them come so near
i even tried to touch one
but i cant overcome the fear
i am not a spider killer
i warn them when i can
but some are so determined
to sit just where i am
i cant stand a spider
even in a book
i flip the page with horror
i just don’t want to look
those waving legs alarm me
i loathe their nobbly heads
the ones that come with harvest
sneak up on the bed!
itsy bitsy spider climbing up the spout
if i hear him coming closer
i’ll flush the bugger out!
The Dreaming Path 