typed briefly
the same oil
from my skin
sticking on the words
from five
in the morning
yelling through a screen
at a used-to-be
stranger
to
fucking date me
you
fucking asshole
American pop
null
inspiration
Dutch political rap
null
inspiration
Indian musicals
null
inspiration
folk Greek
null
inspiration
industrial German
null
inspiration
results are in
every shock wave
reports the same
I physically cannot make
this pitiful
what is not
pity-stenched
I cannot gather enough
oil
to type
so I stay rotting
prettily
in bed
afternoon sun
somewhere not here
smiling like a minstrel
fool
to the tune of
Men Without Hats'
SAFETY DANCE
No comments:
Post a Comment