The Terrestrial Toilet: Pooem Stronghold.
Herein this page you will find the various poetic non-such of one Dr. Cox Robotika.
He puts Frost on ice.
He puts Shakespeare to shame.
He doesn't need a rhyming dictionary, either!
The extra 'O' in 'poem' stands for 'Oh, wow, man!'
NOV 29 2001. - Sub_MISSION
NOV 8 2001. - Sub_MISSION
ANYDAY, ANYWHERE, USA.
(ANYDAY, ANYWHERE, USA)
Ruckus rancor came from
rabble roused robotic regimes.
Pickled with boredom’s brine,
out again to
wish waylay on a would be wasted night.
Parking lot fu-
ever heading nowhere
"Methinks we have an idea"
(so onto)
Spatial street lanes superseded
by prowling pawns off to
find a puckish night-delight.
Not knowing the whereabouts
to which we’ll end the listless
lulling of fake sunlight.
"Onward! We’ll kill another neon noontime."
So on and on we went, and we kept going as
A hyperbole of time passeed
somewhere over our heads.
Then we were back where we always end up,
spending time with rhetoric and friends.
And through all of the anyday-anywheres,
it never matters where we find ourselves
covering our bodies with flecks O’fun.
It could be in galaxies 22.5[Twenty-Two-Point-Five] light years away
Or in a parking lot- anywhere U-S-A.
JUNE 20th! 2001. - Sub_MISSION
This is a call to arms.
Inside the twisted malady of emotion;
This is my bekon; an unornamented utterance.
A page to display an exhibition of remorse.
Ostentatious & unrequited, this is what I describe.
With nothing to remedy, no prescription to subside
the insalubrious condition which I can no longer hide.
I have exceptance, but not untouched with respite for hope.
Being a fool player with fools prayer.
Yet my praying hands find no deity,
Only stubborn calloused resolve.
-No More Vag-Slag-
My vagina may be thinning
but I assure you I am winning
cause inside my vox-box I've got
Hot walks.
AMA wants to know my secret
No Way.
I am a MenoPausal Woman
Ya Ya Ya.
-Sonic rendezvous & interstellar love crafts: I.E. PISS OFF!-
When someone says they're hungry, make them a cheese sandwhich.
Don't waste your time with Roast Beef.
-The Jauntiest of Genteel's.-
Jaundice!
Body Fluid Maladies.
Jaundice!
Bilirubin Overflow
Jaundice, I've got it.
Oh No!
03/20/2001 - Second submission.
Someplace deep within my mind, hidden behind some small outcropping of juxtaposed
crustaceans, a hollow well is slowly being filled.
This can happen with the normal precipitation of tepidness, or with the brackish water of
rat-dropping sewer pipelines.
Though, when the time of torrential downpour happens my well is spilled into.
Filling it so quickly the crustaceans drown... even crustaceans drown.
It's a system shock to my poor well.
And it takes the even sadder crustaceans to a new lonely place.
If I could, I would simply plug it up and forget about the water, pummeling down out of
the sky- opened in the way an animal would crack open some indigenous nut.
However, nature is not so easily thwarted.
A simplistic stopper cannot be found with such wanton ease.
Even if it were found, would I so hastily stave off the fleeting sky-lines?
It can be so cleansing.
Moving the stagnant smell out of my well with the swirling force that can only be called....
What should I do?
One thing, (this being only a possibility), would be to keep my well open and exposed to
all things.
Let the crustaceans die.
Eventually the water will reside (as it has in past times)
What is the most erosive to my well walls is desire....
Desire for someone to make my well known.
I want them to flock and to throw countless wishes into its cellophane reflection.
Ripple and Refract.
Make her image turn slowly introverted.
Then right back out and once over again!
Oft' as predictions made by forecasters tell, that this storm (currently plaguing my well
and its inhabitants) will be isolated in the nether regions of some walled off roof-top- just
outside (or inside) a outcropped hillock.
So.
How could she even reach my shimmering water hole.
Impossibilities and realities known to myself, and the little fuckers within...
Left only to count the time and spell out her name with the displaced stones surrounding
my well-
the hillock- detached from all that because infinity can rest to count and my well can
always drain out.
03/19/2001 - First submission.
Flicker...
Pass on to headlights eating the night like Darth Vadars light saber ate Ob1.
Travel on the moss path eating butterflies and ladybugs.
Pretend like you really care about pleasantries...
But you eat donuts and look at porn just like anyone else.
Spotted Owls and Albatross hail from the sky like leaves from Trees in the Fall.
You dance a merry jig and wonder if someone else cared about it.
Indians bled on a trail of tears and we celebrate it with golden coins bearing their ancestral portraits.
Contradictions and oxymoron's!
Oxycute your zitz!
Don't raise your hand you might be UNSURE!
Drink Coke! Wait, NO... Drink Pepsi, its the choice for the next generation.
Wash me with chloroform and yellow die me number five.
What, with all we do to stay alive I really wonder why we aren't rotting!
You once colored with Crayola: Sea Green and Tangerine Orange
Well, now all your coloring pictures are painted red...
Dry the innocence with experience.
Speak in question marks or don't speak at all.
Assume everything and touch glass when you try for the stars.
Box me in like a happy meal- neat with bright-shapes... promises of toys...
They go unfulfilled like cancer patients hopes for renewal...
Scars line everything.
Break the chain if you can.
Lighthouse and ships lantern.
Cracked sky line.
Purple sunset.
Kerosene torch in the dank cave of unknown
Arrive at the destination and see what you already knew.
In the end of everything lies that temperamental candle of your own fate.
Flicker ... its a fragile flame.
If you blow too forcefully
If you try to protect it...
If you Try and pry it from the candelabra of existence and You very well may end it right their.
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