Unicornasaurus's Reading Room
by: The Unicorn
A poem I wrote during a complicated period in my love life:
Somewhere, a bull's bowels ache tirelessly with your words.
It constantly plants its hoofs on the stall tops,
Moaning that strange moan for some sort of laxative to find relief.
He charges constantly at any color one would lay in front of him--
Whether it's red or not--and we've lost so many rodeo clowns,
No one is willing to pay to see such a bloodbath, any longer.
One day, it will find its gratifying release,
Asshole resembling something like a cardboard box filled with bricks,
In the moment when the box realizes its weight is too heavy a burden.
On that day, they will head for the hills with no resolute victory.
The country will ring and stench with the unedited flatulence,
Although I myself have become subconsciously immune to such foul funk,
From my countless years of merciless exposure.
On that day, the crops of the Midwest with fold into themselves,
And all around the world, they will wonder how I put up with such an odor