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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 05:41:39 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 144399
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => My Boy
[time] => 2008-08-06 03:57:26
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => He detects motive ulterior To drop into Christian Dior. On the cash register, he sees the rubbish, Which has attained its merit. He reaches out a finger stubbish To the keypad -- to touch the celebrity. The numbers are easy and segmented, Like a drowsy alarm clock. Lines today, rigid lines, but no curves In stock. He never believed in a roundish Santa Claus; A ruse that fell so flat it was translucent, And he early-on-scoffed at frivolous laws -- The pot for green dollar and red cent. He writhed in Halloween, Leery of everything phony, And a disdain for costumes Kept his face visibly stony. And he can sniff out a knock-off purse. Blood diamonds should be displayed in a hearse. And he can hear the patent rustle of fur. He smiles at fools victim to the allure. In the bags from Neiman Marcus, He detects the weight of carcass. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 273 [topic] => 75 [informant] => screwge [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished )
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