Monday, March 21, 2011

p'shaw! p'shaw to all the whores.

via tinylights

via velvet cigarette

via deadweight on velveteen

via warwithself [flaws and all]

via ilovewildfox

via knightcat

and now, a poem.

A Mustache Regrowing Poem
by: Lewis Edward Watts

The stache was dead and gone
For many months
(Besaddened times),
And I thought this was best.

So wrong I was so

But I floated on a river of lies-
Vicious lies, pernicious lies,
Venemous and
In a boat of

P'shaw! P'shaw to all the whores,
The tricks, the ganks,
The wolfdog-faced kermuzzlers,
The ever-sighing widows and the
Blue-faced chubby doubters:
I shed them now!
Omit them from my life!

And the stache, the stache!
That heavenly thing!
With ends that twirl like
Angels' Umbrellas!
It begins its phoenixian rise!
And where once stood a stache,
Proud as the Top Tiger,
So will one stand again,
A testament to time and all eternity:

That this, this is my face-
Bold and unforgiving.


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