Two Modery Peoms

Sorry, I have been too busy to write. Or not busy enough.

But since I saw Meredith's recent modery poem and had to comment about it, I felt it only just that I give others the same opportunity. I've had other things to do recently and no time, so these are not quite fresh, but perhaps you will enjoy them.

Where do you buy fresh diced cerium in your neighborhood?

I like to sit, singing the weasel song, as if they're cheese on the night beaches.

When it wasn't furry enough, you had to go over the third wall to get the pruning liar off the elephant.
[Feb 17 2010]


One steering wheel, sauteed in pencil-based metaphors, won't fit the lavender ellipse tonight, at least they didn't the last time either.

He's made plenty of chocolate books, enough to threaten several streets of martial envy, but all the onions are still bolted to the stairs.

I hear the tuba walking around again; it's just over the seventh camel.

[Feb 17 2010]

Note: If you get the feeling this is some sort of complex inside joke (or possibly some sort of extremely clever esoteric encryption scheme) you may be right. Please don't spend any time worrying about them.