There. One designated word out of the way.
Not one of yours, mine.
Here’s a few more:
Suglafeties – Grecian trombone player with a penchant for penchants.
Penchant – Stuff people I make up do.
Trombone – Like a flute. Bigger. Longer.
All this because I rock.
And the crush I have is on Bella.
Not her prudish, yet also fairly really hot yet unattainable sister who went on a date with some French talking guy but I didn’t hear how that turned out I hope he’s gay.
I don’t know French.
Ja Mapelle Stupid.
Here again, I’m hoping the do-no-wrong Rock! status will get me past the ridicule.
Let’s make that, let’s see … Sesquipedalian Sasquatch.
Okay, here’s the poem.
And whereupon the darkness dropped
Night fell like a something that falls night-like
The sasquatch of my heart was stirring
and the saints threw themselves upon their swords
and Jesus glowed with red shame when his mom caught him tugging the little savior
Night did its thing.
The streetlights flickered out
the pavement sighed
the grass warily peeked around the curb
and the moon waned
with an axe-like grin
and a camper somewhere,
about to draw his last breath,
is lulled by a boogedyboogedy from dad.
a) This was one of Anna McCambridge's daily vocabulary quizzes in poem form.
b) She was, at the time, drunk and / or punchy from dealing with Visual Fringe.
c) Butch was drunker.
Favorite line: "Night / Oh Yeah / Night did its thing." I'm totally stealing that for the next thing I write that involves a detective.