Billy was lost. The woods had completely

Billy was lost. The woods had completely surrounded him. It was becoming obvious that something bad was about to happen.

then decided to run away. He thought that he would around to see how much he could smell without his nose. The flowers were in bloom and had a beautiful aroma. The trees

The trees started eating the flowers. The flowers started eating his nose. His nose started eating his eyes. His feet started eating

his toes. "You call that poetry?" Walt Whitman asked. "I'd call it crap." The Dead Poet's Society annual poetry slam was not going well. "Emily Dickinson. You're up."

Emily cleared her throat. "Ahem. Ode to a D-bag. You sir," she pointed at the poetry slam moderator "are a douche." And Mrs. Dickinson sat down. "OK then! Next we have Bob Frost!"

"Dickinson naked / A dermal heap / Gallons of eye bleach / Before I sleep." Frost dropped the mic and found a corner to be old in. Gertrude Stein would slam poetry next.

"is it on? / the mike, is it on? / is the mike on? / the mike is on / I have asked if it is on / and it is / it is on / the mike is on" Gertrude handed the mike to Poe, next up

in the poetry slam. he picked up Gertrude's groove & worked it /is it on / mike? /is it on?/ mike is two sizes too long/ mike's got a long schlong/dang dong!/Poe handed the mike to

e.e. cummings who capitalized on the opportunity. "hellobeautifulpeoplehello. elephantsflylikethoughtsoutofmymind, wontyouflywithmetoo? wontyouflywithme?" Thunderous applause.