i write poetry all the time, but im proud of that!
On these sandy streets, laced with ritzys eats. Littered
establishments, alleys bloated, sparkled with tricks, skid row
hicks blinded, this fruitful agony is winded, vineded trapped in a
bottle, vended. Tomorrows snack. Soothing after taste of crack.
Debilitating race against fact, gravy train on the tract, like
monopoly high rises fast falls. Most devasating of all. We watch
the worn crawl, hand them a kane but that’s not close to all. We
need to stick around, nurse fits or overalls, under the cause,
think they’ll be saved with just gauze? Over the bridge to under it
I hear people talking, but they arent strangers. they follow me
walking, it gets stranger. Sayin something bout Jesus, but they
arent from the manger. Carrying pieces, but they are not a ranger.
if they arent a ranger, im no jolly rancher. justa bali brancher,
prolly prancer, nolly nancer, if they arent a ranger, im no flabby
vulcher, justa gabby culture, tabby lurcher, happy torture. if they
are a ranger, ima fitted spanger, aquitted lazer, comitted blazer.
If they are a ranger.