A Twenty-Syllable Epigram on the Modern Haiku The marriage of today’s busy professional with tomorrow’s oblivion. A Veritable Waste of Space Veritible’s a word of minor weight, mere filler culled to modify the void. Its meaning tacks to hurry-up-and-wait –all empty suit, adjectively deployed. This now concludes my veritable screed that heaped nonentitude on absent
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You’re my Venus, pretty lady, Aphrodite of a sulfuric acid. Morning Star sometimes, your alluring eyes sparkle like misleading stars. Larger than Earth can encompass Your beauty holds no bounds. No, not large like a Double Cheeseburger. I’m talking spacy, darling. Hair blonde like the gaseous swirls that Remind me of a half eaten Milky
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Ridiculously unimpressed Yawning with his eyes as I Adorn the night with slurred syllables and my Noxious black smoke that he says smells like Christmas trees burning.
Roadkill Poem By Chris Major ———– Chris Major doesn’t want you to know anything about him because his bones are made of secrets and his muscles are made of enigmas and his skin is made out of interlocking puzzle pieces that sweat. He wants you to go here: http://whyvandalism.com/