Saturday, January 11, 2014

My stalk sticks up from below my bellybutton/ I
   am a stalker, a corn stalker/ call me the kernel, my
      talking is major/ I'm General Mills/ if they knew of
my shenanigans, they'd give me corporal punishment/ they
  don't know because I keep it private, even if I have to
      buck up/ I'm stuck up as I fuck up, as I stalk her playing
        the field/ she calls the police on me, but Sgt Faulker is
     also a stalker & a non-stop talker/ he talks about the one
  he stalks/ they put him on a wire, the wire of desire because he
    can't stop stalking, but he sees another beauty & starts balking as
      he switches the object of his stalking & is in another corn field/ he
         approaches her from behind, ever so kind, but she says he's
            not her type/ his stalk wilts to the hilt in a forest of
                hair, all because she doesn't care, & now he's
                    old & tired/ as a stalker, he's retired!
            He puts his PECKER in a BOX &
                                 leaves it for the FOX &
                           goes TO SLEEP .  .  .
Fritz Hamilton

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...