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Little Miss Sunshine
a poem by B. Russell

There are rainbows
in her ass.
Birds and butterflies
deposit in her mouth
and sunshine
showers golden into her eyes.
She is an overflowed outhouse
of joy.
Always with a smile
and how-do-you-do,
all strangers
a fecal friend in the making.
Everywhere she goes,
flowers creep from her
manure deposits.
She litters the world with
her footsteps,
flinging excrement of positivity,
rubbing it in my face
every goddamn time we meet.

She is full of love.
She is so full of it.
To the brim bursting.
She is a filthy one indeed.

And I,
immaculately clean,
practical and realistic,
and not in any way jealous.

How I loathe that dear girl.


 go back, i say