Ghost Elephants & the Poetic Disease (A Flarf Poem)


Dry martini copes toward dramatic responses.
Smile, cornbread, and déjà vu;
Life deteriorates liberty.
Music wakes up the warm meat.
Examinations roughly desire a bruised rain reputation.

Some topics lie swiftly
beneath a never-ending acupuncture chapter.

Why is the old theory contradicting itself under the table?

The concepts of morality endure cold pretzels.
Wow! I never knew that a ghost elephant could be so sensitive.
Big descriptions on Bill Cosby
show negative signs of the Mississippi river.
Fabio would be thrill if midget Abraham Lincoln we’re to say;
“I can’t believe it’s not butter”.
Brilliance is a small annoying Davinci
who steals Charlie Chaplin’s Bowler hat.

Surrealism may be hard to beat,
but I got the Latin fever baking on my subconscious oven.

Misty, buoyant, and poetically displeased
I feel so anxiously to tell you a blissful philosophy hum-drum.
Criticism reminds me of when I got my first yo-yo.

Where is Mona Lisa’s brain-stained refrigerated?

Lord only knows if those wild futuristic zombies
haven’t already eaten roughly a cooked i-phone.
My chest-nuts somewhat resemble David Duchovny
but the moon landing was the best piece of science fiction
ever written by man himself.


Copyright © Charlie Zero

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14 thoughts on “Ghost Elephants & the Poetic Disease (A Flarf Poem)

  1. Interesting. I’ve never heard of a flarf poem before, and having now read one and the Wikipedia description of what one is, I don’t think I could write one. This one has some intriguing lines in it. Peace, Linda

  2. “Where is Mona Lisa’s brain-stained refrigerated?” That is quite a line! Thanls for a very original write Charlie – Thanks… With Best Wishes Scott

  3. I really like the expansiveness of this poem, Charlie. Morality combined with cold pretzels gives a unique picture indeed. And surrealism is hard to beat, especially when Mona Lisa’s brain is involved!! Cool poem, Charlie!

  4. Back on the beam, sir; thanks, I really needed a good Flarf fix, & you delivered in spiraling pretzels of Buck Rogers’ man bra; do you dig? I believe that when you ( or I) gets into the Flare-grove, shit spills out on the page like crap through a snow goose while it is road-testing a Ferrari walk-behind lawn mowing beach chair. Been missing your fine contribution to the lexicon of larcenous long-winded twisted poetics. I love your line /music wakes up the warm meat/, putting me in mind of /happiness is a warm gun/.

  5. Never heard of a flarf poem….this is completely out there! Very fun. Your chestnuts somewhat resemble David Duchovny? You better get that checked out 😉

  6. Ah.. yes.. a world of images lived well.. released in words.. intermingling the way those images work together in tapestry of life.. to free those images in words.. unbound with pages of books of order.. is to see and please the mind as free..:)

  7. There are some great one liners in there Charlie. Concepts of morality enduring cold pretzels. Hopefully not beer pretzels that have laid out too long. You can break teeth on those. Perhaps philosophy is hard enough to endure though. Music always wake my warm meat. Ha.

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