Thursday, March 13, 2014



A skyline of stomach-lining cells.
A dirty omen direct from the Iliad.
I've got weed and
Sure enough, breezy vagina puzzles.
Comforting coconut seasons
With habits.
They tell me the truth.
I give into all their charities.

I smoke weed and enter my lamp.
I'm schmoozing the calling I've been faking.
The wizard lines coconuts with vaginas.
And what a day!
I am endlessly programmed to cum.
If it's like this tomorrow
I'll shit myself and know I look out
Of Clare enticing my cadaver's perfection, she 

Drills me about unrolled condoms she spits.
Condoms are the neighborhood remedy
Clutching the malls off a street of crocodiles.
My love and Jerusalem and my calling
Trap a sharable femur.
It's great benefits for what I'm doing for money.
3 $5 beers and I become pissed-
The smell of omen-lining puzzles perfected by a dude, 

Fuck, I forgot his name.
My whole stay rotates around the skyline deflating and dying.
Girl, I don't mind.
The intellectual horseshoes from the maze
Close up shop and let poetry start my way.
I am a welcomed guest, though
I wear my apron high.
Everything is always the same as I left it.

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