White lies

In the beginning just some pent up rage
Words all built up locked In a cage
Frothing volcano balls full of semen
Held in too long exploding wet dreamin

Didn’t want to get caught
Didn’t want to enrage
Stupid lines didn’t cross
Internet a Safe Space?

But where I grow when I write
Can’t be truncated by those who’ve died
And the numbers are forever
Cool like pillows undersides

So into white sheets
Whiter seeds I will blow
Won’t even bother to wipe up

The wet spots as they grow

Cold case file 61

It fondles and quakes jelly polo shirts
61 years old and 61 width wide
McDonalds milkshake silly yolo perks
Whatever you sold can’t compete. with pride

I threw in the towel to a man sucking the cloth
Stole the crowd that loud mouth fucking sloth
Lobby bar hero with travel tales
Wow been to Florida and once even to Wales

Everyone thinks you are the 61 shite
I see through the blubber the blabber the blight

Double chin hero with whom all are keen
When you are cut open I’ll piss on your spleen

None of these movers will remember our faces
Sun of these groovers 61
Dismembered traces

And did I mention they didnt notice me?
Quiet guy in the morning. Not a priest
Quiet time with no warning 61 bloody trees
I breathe the air while you pray and bleed
I’m beneath I’m there

I prey and I feed

Sitcom laughtrack. Platform B

Broken butterfly wings

guitar strings

Other silly poetic things

Under the city empty subway tube

You’re above with sippy cups, office cubes

I’m down here applying the lube

She’s only been dead an hour or two

My feet are wet in the sewer drain

As you snuggle in bed with Roseanne on your “brain”

Made up in makeup and played up sustained.

Tossed me a quarter I played Layla by the trains

Five dollar foot long

So it’s Monday or Tuesday in the world you chose

Can’t . afford to switch to a new I. S’pose

Or afraid to ask permission

Fellowships in pews and robes

So you suck on your juice box for your 30 minute break

Living the American. Dream awake

Mix it up a bit. Today we have pickles on our

Fucksakes

And just enough hope. To get on and fake