This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
With porfle’s poetry corner.

Sometimes, when I’m not recording my precious thoughts and opinions for the eternal benefit of posterity, I like to compose heartbreakingly beautiful poetry with which to enrich the lives of all humankind and transform your fondest dreams of earthly bliss into an intoxicating reality.

When I’m not in the mood to do that, I write stuff like this:

by porfle

Where the coyotes played
And the puppies strayed
Where the cows were spayed
With their shoes on

Where the babies fly
And the chipmunks cry
Roams a naked guy
In Old Tucson.

And the days of the past turn around at last
Till the nights run into the years
And the man without clothes has to blow his own nose
With a picture of Britney Spears
With a picture of Britney Spears.

Where the children growl
And the hamsters prowl
And the housewives howl
When “The View”‘s on

Where the river flows
And the oatmeal blows
And the Husky goes
In Old Tucson

Where the sad and the glad dance around with the mad
And the zagger breaks bread with the zigger
And the man without clothes has to pick his own toes
With a Jar-Jar Binks action figger
With a Jar-Jar Binks action figger.

Where the ol’ cowpoke sings
Like the cacklin’ springs
Of the buffalo wings
That he’s cravin’

Where burritos roar
Through the bowels of Al Gore
As he cries “Nevermore”
Like the raven.

Where the frontier punks wear berets made of skunks
And the lion lies down with the lobster
And the man without clothes likes to tie frilly bows
In the beard of his sister, the mobster
In the beard of his sister, the mobster.

Where the double-chinned
Break a mighty wind
Imitating Paul Lynde
With a goose on

And the vampires feed
While the fish stampede
And gorillas breed
In Old Tucson.

by porfle

Burt’s not a ghost, he’s physical
And also very quizzical
He yearns to know the story
Of the girl named Hunky Dory.

Burt has not the skill to fly
Nor spooky cry, as of a ghost
He’s physical, our hardy Burt
He’s just as real as Donny Most.

Burt tracks down the vital facts
The hidden truth, the background scoop
Of Hunky Dory’s hack attacks
That turned his precious files to poop.

“Hacky” Jack will well attest
That Hunky Dory is the best
At hacking into your computer
She’s an information looter.

Burt’s not made of ectoplasm
Poke his knee, he’ll have a spasm
Ghosts, of course, cannot orgasm
But as for Burt, he sometimes has ’em.

Burt would never haunt a house
Nor scare your spouse, as ghosts are apt
Quite solid is our Burt’s physique
And safe within, his spirit trapp’d.

“Hacky” Jack has talked to Burt
And placed him on a red alert
That Hunky Dory’s still at large
And lurks offshore, upon her barge.

And now, whenever Burt’s online
He seeks a sign, of things amiss
But any evidence of this
Is lost across the salty brine

Where Hunky Dory’s barge sets anchor
There, her cyber deeds to plot
And fill Burt’s aching heart with rancor
With each taunting forum bot.

by porfle

Down the street, and up the block
Near the solid-waste processing plant
Lives a little girl named Dairy Maid
Who smells like Cary Grant.

Her dreams are filled with bovine love
Of cows in torrid tongue-swept smooches
Swapping cud with swarthy farmers
‘Midst droppings left by bitter pooches.

And when the sun bursts through the clouds
And shines it rays upon her hump
Then Dairy Maid jumps up and down
Upon the corpse of Forrest Gump.

The bloody corpse of Forrest Gump
The gory, oozing, rancid corpse
That Dairy Maid shines heat lamps on
Until it shrivels, pops, and warps.

But as the cows in lip-lock swoon
Their teats unmilked, as passion mounts
She dreams of Carrot Top’s “equipment”
On which she’d love to jump and pounce.

Milk, and cheese, and chicken eggs
Milton Berle, and Seth Green’s legs
The smell of Raymond Burr’s behind
Go swirling through her fevered mind.

And now the farmers and the cows
Have mutant children in their lust
That Dairy Maid will volunteer
To suckle with her ample bust.

by porfle

Oh, glaciers of hog fat
How slowly you move!
I anticipate your conquest
Gettin’ “into the groove.”

When you smother and drown
The entire human race
Then nothing but hog fat
Will be seen from outer space.

But it’s taking forever!
Oh, hog fat divine–
As, patiently waiting,
On pork rinds I dine.

But someday, the Grand Canyon
Will be a hog fat sea
And where once towered mountains
Only hog fat there will be.

Oh, glaciers of hog fat
Will I witness the sight?
Of the whole earth immersed
In pure hog fat delight?

Oh, please, hog fat glaciers
Please, don’t take as long
As your stupid ice brethren
That’s so totally wrong.

Deluge us, oh hog fat!
My excitement is risin’
As I watch, and I wait
For a hog fat horizon.

Foolish humans will run
But the hog fat will win
And the “Planet of Hog Fat”
…will start over again.

Have your say!

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