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
14 Dec 2008
Sunday Afternoon Improvisation From The Hotel Suck My Dangly
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4 comments:
he is incredible. why doth he not write more?
i agree with jaie...we want you to write more..
;-)
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
Brilliant.
Killer finish.
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