Six Disturbing Palindromes
“No, Keep Rod on,” a brute lisps. “I’ll rig a Tulsa siren, rut an item. Albinos, Mister [B]ret Simson, I blame. “Tina Turner is a slut,” a girl lisps. “I let urban odor peek on.”
35 words/123 letters
“Relapse,” he pondered. “No plasma, yet a straw, Latin egret-sewer [g]rew Ester genital warts, ate yams,” Al pondered. “Nope, he’s paler.”
Tia, winepots rub sun as risen. Infinity’s s[a]ssy tin if nine sirs’ anus burst open. I wait.
Part Adam, I, Maria, help pins repel a lio[n], oil a leper’s nipple hair. Am I mad? A trap?
Sun as Tim or felt tips laminate [w]et animal spittle from its anus.
Hot tub, slap us in. It ram[s] martinis up Al’s butt. Oh.
Palindrome for Ethan Bell
Backwards City Review (2005)
Signing is not, new pet son. Pass awe? Not so! No green I plan. I dog … Miss, I hog; I say, “no best-fill lasts”; I’m red now … still, I hate new. Now go, fat asleep user-god. Irate, we do not gnash, sag, nor we nab. Run as muskcats poll a gym-barge (gasp). I help made-wart stew stiff. Is a name surer … eh, sir … eh, Toro? Do fist lame Rome; yes, sell war-cotton’s nog at cola. I rob rasta-prod of less. Red dunes I rot. No, do not spill, Lord; puff its rosecap’s red nub. Milk-lawyer, pot nine men in stunt news. A doctor sits – I’m fine! Desire Warren’s lip to help miss. A warning (Is it? Is not?) noses a rest, sir. Whore, work curt as a sin-net set! I knob mud eras, nag! Rode cane melts. I, penis, yawn. I sub betrayal. Prose werewolf, I did not send a fag, nor we rip mud as a side wang. Dew as pun, we stub. Diaper, fill a bastion. Stun-saw tips a rat sewn idle. Homemade porn? Ah, ten odes re[v]ersed on: Ethan roped a memo held in west. A rasp – it was nuts? No, it’s a ball if repaid but, sewn up, sawed, gnawed, is a sad umpire. Wrong a fad nest on. Did I flower ewes or play art? Ebb us in ways, in epistle men – aced organs are dumb on kites. Tennis as a truck rower, oh wrists, erases on tons. It, I sign-in raw; as simple, hot pilsner, rawer, is Eden if mist is rot, codas went nuts. Nine men, into prey, walk, limb under spaces or stiff-up – droll lips to nod onto risen udders. Self-odor pats arborial octagons not to crawl less, eye more malts if odor-other is here, ruse-man – as if fits; wet strawed, ample hips age. “Grab my gallop-stack,” sums an urbane wrong. Ash sang to node-wet, arid ogres, up eels, at a fog won. We net a hill. Its wonder mists all, lifts ebony as I go hiss. I’m god in alpine – ergo: no stone was sap. No step went on – signing is.
Diana Ross Palindrome
Diet Soap (2007)
Tide-red rodent, fold a basin; rope grass yarn. Oh, to Bev, love, did I put sleep. Is a maiden madder free? Bev, Ian pissed a hot Diana Ross; I’d eye no help. Puss is a button-era’s. God-damn, a loneliness is senile, Nolan. Mad dogs are not tubas. Is supple honey? Ed is … so ran aid to Hades. Sip naïve beer, Fred. Damn Ed! Aim as I peel, stupid. I’d evolve both on rays. Sarge, porn is a bad loft. Ned ordered it.
Eve’s Bacon Drawer
Outer Reaches of the Palindrome, McConnell, (2003)
Dog-bard, a wall arose. Soon, a red,nude man-era stole Gail of deli, and, lo, my tit-net carts bade, “trap millions’ parts,” but a snag rose many fits, and I’d reward no cabs. Eve[n] Eve’s bacon drawer did nastify names, organs, a tub, straps. No ill-imparted, abstract-entity mold nailed foliage. Lots are named under a noose’s oral law – a drab god.