Junk Poetry Goes Forth: Four Easy Payments = Four Easy Inches

I’m a busy busy boy! Pretty happy though, managing to stay on top of things (more or less) and hand in assignments on time. Like, ‘five minutes before the deadline’ on time. Which still counts.

I think I might just make this a regular Monday thing, because it’s fun, easy, and deals with real issues and problems plaguing our world today. Namely, the problem of unhappiness, or should I say, unhapPENIS? (No, you shouldn’t say – ED)

Below is an arrangement of words that hide in emails trying to sell me junk for my junk. I’ve re-ordered them and sprinkled punctuation around to make it look like some avante-garde high falutin’ poetry that wankers discuss at cafes over half-caff-no-dairy-clear-water-room-temperature beverages that cost more than the average annual salary in Indonesia.

If you want to catch up on the other installments of the Junk Poetry series, you can click here.

If you’re interested in the history of spam poetry (which I just found out about) you can go here. There’s also a website dedicated to it. At least, it used to be, seems pretty defunct now. Flaccid, almost…

I’m also getting a book tidied up and preparing it for publication, you can sign up for updates and a chance to win free goodies here. Also, if you happen to be handy at art, I’m in the market for a book cover designer, hit me up on Twitter or email me.

Disclaimer: Under no circumstances should you operate heavy machinery. That doesn’t just apply when you’re reading this, more of a general life tip. That shit is dangerous, and heavy.

Lott to the sofa with no other.

Had placed it later, Matt.

Both women were making her words.

Despite the idea, Matt held out back.

Please, Beth sensed, she turned, saw that.

“Ethan, Matt sat in what?”

“Yeah, that night, Matty is alone.”

Does she? Wondered anyone else.

Carter had made up with his attention.

Around the parking lot, Beth.

Give up your own bathroom.

Stood there, is one day, Matt.

“Sorry, you can take your sister.”

Maybe, even though you hear Matt,

“Please, Matty is your own bathroom door!

Good for another? Long enough?!”

Nothing much, trouble to sit in front.

Past that followed her chin.

Maybe he should do anything else.

Big brother in front door.

Cassie, the kitchen table, Matt.

Homegrown dandelions, Matt sensed the kitchen

Forget. It made sure to Ethan:

“Come inside the last night, Matt.”

Luke had passed the pickup,

Without any other side door

Besides that kiss on time.

Really want it, might be sure.

Bailey to walk in front door.

Fiona was right, Beth leaned in front.

Sorry, for now, what does this

About him? What she does that,

Besides that held him, Matt?

“How much did you like that?”

While they would be different.

Head, and returned. His mind

Sat in her hands, and at home.

About us, alone in years, older brother.

Stood there, you might have been. Said

“When you get married today,

Sorry you need me like this.”

Instead she leaned against Matt.

Come to herself from behind the table.

Fiona said, taking care about them,

“Once more than her mouth.”

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About Neil

Neil Rochford is a writer from Ireland and has lived in various places around the world. He loves fiction where bad things happen, is trying to feed himself with his words and he is available for freelance writing gigs and wakes. His book, The Blue Ridge Project, is available NOW on Amazon.