Treasure Island

Charles Monroe


A.M. Mayhem


A.M. Mayhem
Divine right of Kings
Passtime: Regicide
To make Widdows of their Queens
For all they can Treasure
Dissolves in the wind
For Critics I've punctured
Have ruptured within
And since become wholly
Holy with holes
And ooze guacamole
In contests of whores
Doors being kicked in
Of forums and pigpens
For swallowing feces
The same as their English
I've yet to distinguish
Those worthy of Pens
For writer's dimensions
Are measured in Gems
Not enthused intentions
Oh critical me
Critical condition
To criticize me.
The Queen of the Dickheads
And harlets galore
Will gag on the children
Of Sha-Sha Gabore
Enough of the Riff-Raff
Tell Hamlet to sing
My dope Euthanasia
Hath murdered the King.
Like John Milton said,
'The King's got to go'
For even the blind see
Its the A.M. Mayhem Show.
P.X
8.9.13
3: 37AM

Submitted: Friday, August 09, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, August 28, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Live from Los Angeles

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