unless you’re me
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unless you’re me
Huge hairy mound
pissed at Scalford
her arse exploded
as he unloaded
his big cigar
into her slippery
and moist surface
but bumped into
James Elroy Flecker
He wrote this....
We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with
snow
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
Who take the Golden Road to Samarkand.