what I love about this country is the jazz and the blues and
clear skies are the feathers with which the lesser gods tickle their twats and dicks sunshine is the gleam of a puckered asshole
just for fuck’s sake don’t write it about her i know she loved this song but you loved it before her
submerged so deeply in abysmal woes of self he makes his last choice
the next one in the holder on the… can barely contain itself one corner is already protruding hoping like hell that when she finishes her burrito
man that lives to yearn sips at the tit of poison no will, but to die
on a good day a poem is just a death threat to e… on a bad day it is a love letter
I keep coming back just when ya think “there is no
i entered into my junior high poet… with such a sense of excitement to share the craft that i had disc… just a couple years earlier a craft that my gramma had
the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here
long begrimed with dust a floor looking for a broom love me for my scuffs
was afraid of heights until i looked at my back and saw i have wings
when the piano notes are dancing rhythms of candle light it’s hard to hear the fire go out the room cools its quiet wakes your fear
the songs that have been played as it’s neck was tickled and it’s belly was rubbed those at the pawn shop have nightm… of too much Beatles
heaven throw me out but i’m keeping the halo you should have no doubt i am ready for limbo so hold me