like anyone gives any kind of an excretion about what you have to say if  you don't include a picture of what you look like with your editorial poem
 

by Kenn "Striped Pants" Fliegen
 

tomorrow is just another day where the milk bottles will sit on the front stoop of use to no one. housing projects for fattening spiders whom i have named after the sons of quarterbacks, sons inevitably doomed to failure or front-office jobs

(john staubach, jerome bradshaw, phillip unitas, deavours kemp) .
they do their jobs: they keep the kids away. i used to practice clean living
and now believe in all that shit, as my friend would say over a beer (is nothing sacred?), so the only pesticides in my apartment are on the vegetables. each apple is preserved like a sweet little Lenin, and then in the stogies I keep in the top drawer of my steel writing table. I prefer Malburros for a cigarette but smoke kinsington classics ultralights because i'm a habitual bin shopper. I shove my hand all down in there.

and i do mean where

and i do mean meany butts. and they do not brush

i do wave furiously at the green grocer. he'd never drunk such scotch like this before

he went home to his wife after that. I assure you.

the sticking places
 

teacher came in
shot an arrow into little bow-wow's eye (actually, it was a pencil
a first-grade fatty)  he had been busying himself with eating clayballs
and she said "class, take out your papers and title your papers "what to do in case of not an emergency"
i handed mine in and said you listen
to donovan, dont you?

i, too, was a first-grade fatty.
 
 

     Idolator      see Kenn Fliegen

The online stylings (still contains a few curlers) read Kenn Fliegen's new berry

email Mercator Pile contact Kenn Fliegen

Let go the kite flee Kenn Fliegen







See the original





Drachen Fliegen is a sustaining member
(and I do mean member)
of the "Naturally Fucked Up"
web alliance
In association w/ D.A.R.E. and the President's Council on Joints and Syringes