your writings are like poor puzzles to me
you puke your poems from great heights
and they splash gross upon the ground;
were you drunk when you wrote them?
it’d take a forensic pathologist to break the code
how’s a guy supposed to know what you consumed
that made this partially digested verbal shit-storm?

maybe i’m just sick…
maybe my leavings are not tea leaves
for your personal prognostications
just get a mop and clean it up
or let it dry, hold your nose and move on,
move on to a cleaner place