Pacing Poem #1


Please tomorrow
as if yesterday
pleads for today

Green Mother


Frank Sauce's blood is green
Fly be free mean green mother
Shrouded in a myth
you are life

yesterday was lonesome
works a sacred day
we blaspheme green everyday

you know where your heart is

he doesn't like the color green
perhaps he is more mean than you
Green Mother
Mother Green

an amalgam of memory, regret and forgetfulness
there is nothing
here is everything

this seams less than you
Green mother
Mother green

The impossible posits the possible
and then there is me and you
we know each other

A casual glance
a remorseless tangle
what weeds we bramble

a bramble of green
this day almost gone
here we are

Thumb Poem #15


Frank Sauce is a sludge wall. Amen.
I hate you poets

You're sludgewall

You can have convenience, which I can never spell correctly without a prompter now

So I drink myself to knot and beyond

A poet is a poet, what more do you want?

A poet is their soul, and that is why I hate them, unless they are hot

I heave you, poets!

I am fast that needs to glean you with your words, its pure means, if just for a moment, poets

I love your poetry

Oh, you silly, strong, seized, wild, mainline, mad poets!

you make me drink more because I feel more

Oh, how I lust for the wiggle in your verse, your sumptuous phrase

When you make an ugly word beautiful and the best word real

Thumb Poem #14


Frank Sauce prefers lungs over throats, teeth over mouth

She has a speech impediment, we both have spines

Doorknob platter

Cellophane and hay, yay!
Broken fake marvel in the diva den

I'm gonna break it That said, gotta triple and shitty service

You're lo-cash cause you're lo-class

Shake that ass down into my ditch, which reminds me of my skin’s will to flesh

We are just people

She's so Led Zepplin that I feel heavy around her

Thumb Poem #13


Frank Sauce is the convector of earthly delights
You alone with your smorgasbord of emotions deceives you into thinking you're not alone Its last breath before temptation convinces us all awry The latest sorrow begins with a snag, a fray and a yowl The fork forks as it remembers that it wasn't too long ago when life was eaten

“If you are not a fork, you will be forked,” the forks sustain

Thumb Poem #12


Frank Sauce is a child in disguise

I found the rapid man, he didn't find me

I was rapid once as a child on my knees

Now my knees know pant legs and elbows

Frank Sauce

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