Two porcupines walk into a bar. No, wait. One porcupine walks into a bar. Well, actually, its a poet. And he walks into a library. He opens books and shakes them until they look like porcupines dancin
"If only my cousin had kept off me, kept out of me his brown fly-strop glue, his shot dog-eye cream. Afterwards, he would comb my hair to a wet Elvis point between my eyes and warn me what his wolves
