Melissa Etheridge’s wife, Tammy Lynn Michaels, like Rosie O’Donnell, is fond of blogging her mind in poem, which she, like Rosie, does by breaking up regular prose sentences into lower-case fragments, like this:
you are a criminal
you are raping our country of our intentions
i do wonder if his mom and dad go to bed at night
proud of little whiskey-cokey-georgie poo
how does laura lay her head down at night
pulled eyes and all
and dream sweetly of lambies and cashmere sweaters?
when she fucks him
does she call him adolf or castro?