The rain doesn’t fall; literally it drops <br />from the sky. Not in buckets, <br />rather it is being poured <br />in a deluge of wind driven <br />piss filled chamber pots. <br />It is as if some giant heavenly <br />operated turbine of piteousness <br />is determined to drown out <br />our collective mouths <br />with a sterile wash of rectitude… <br />Where once grew a varied garden; <br />now the fields yield only unmarried scorn. <br />Where once there was a rebirth of ideas; <br />an abortionist mentality of censure occurs. <br />Expurgating the sexually mutated, deemed <br />anachronisms of deviates and polishing them <br />into an acceptable form of literature <br />more suited for the mass appeal of eunuch Lemmus. <br />Baths been drawn; babies squeaky clean…. <br /> <br />2008 © TS<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bad-der-zensur/
