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Peter Burghardt
Peter Burghardt lives in Galesburg, Illinois where he attends Knox College.
Transmigration This here a table That there a chair Between them a typewriter With a third term to share Monroe expired July 4th, 1831 But turned inside out Became bobbing And bottle blonde June 1st, 1926 I wonder if Bobby, John and Joe Would quite agree When Jefferson pronounced, There is a soul With not a spot on it! (Save, of course, above The left upper lip) Swift
Poem for Moving We have come too Another place for staying Out in the middle The couch is small But curiously delicate Tan, nearly rolling In the floor How likely The telephone nuzzles An olive elephant trunk Slipped from the wall Isn’t this inertia Taking hold That old comfortable squeeze Lollygagging through My den and mucking The thing up
Ach!
Das Wetter Your mother sure Knows. To work A crowd. The cheapness Oh, don’t be so Surly. If it came Of its own Accord There isn’t much to be Done. You think You got it? You trout No person HAS it, You puke. Just perhaps Had it More than a bit ago So man up and cover Yourself. You smell Quite foul Like I need a bigg er d rink.
copyright © Peter Burghardt |