14 Dec 2008

Sunday Afternoon Improvisation From The Hotel Suck My Dangly

What dies on your hips?

The only "real" left to wander
in strips of greasy, urban hair

The storm eaten by the aim of science
The Phantom crossing the ocean with its own laws in tow

Class warfare swims its own knotted void

Steel redeems the bloated echo

Animal logic singing your brunette mother like
a brand new libido, a celestial back-beat

Although there is definitely something profoundly wrong with
the sound of a sparkling blow-job in this universe


Jaie said...

he is incredible. why doth he not write more?

TICTAC said...

i agree with jaie...we want you to write more..

Robert said...

thanks to you both

*blushes all commie red*

unfortunately, i work 10 hour days wielding a shovel and topssing around chunks of concrete...this is how i survive...so i dont always have as much energy to write as i would like

Antony Hitchin said...


Killer finish.