Monday, April 23, 2007
Spam Poetry 4
"shortcake"
by spammer Buddy Andersen, mthome@kingcrableg.com
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
This gap in time, this season not their own,
When I am heard, and what I say is solely
Yes. The obvious
He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;
This perfection, this absence.
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
Covering the land—
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
With a hand freed from weight,
More beautiful than anything in this world.
This perfection, this absence.
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Trampled snow is the only rose.
End of the comedy.
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last.
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
by spammer Buddy Andersen, mthome@kingcrableg.com
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
This gap in time, this season not their own,
When I am heard, and what I say is solely
Yes. The obvious
He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;
This perfection, this absence.
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
Covering the land—
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
With a hand freed from weight,
More beautiful than anything in this world.
This perfection, this absence.
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Trampled snow is the only rose.
End of the comedy.
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last.
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Labels: poem, spam, spam poetry
at 6:27 AM 
