I know there's no room for me to be anything but mistaken for a tree drifting in blue breeze. Then there's fees --you fees, my foes make cold my toes and shown me a new high, I'd never know in getting lo. Woe me, woe be-gone traveler of rancid nights and dirty tracks. Hit me clean but never listen to me speak. You'd be wrong then 'cause I am a liar and never know it cause I lied again---- to my mother my poor poor mother.
Winners are winners and the losers are beat with puns and funny bone back breaks in Saigon. Red is red and blue is fifty shades of mint tea runny, down the nose of the Wooly Mammoth. Please try, please try me in Martinique, only when the clouds roam, only when the poet's public, only when the Sun is set on finding not a me but three other girls trapped in the sand tomb barista's choice from Nashville or anywhere else but Andersonville.
Forward thinkers, fast thinkers,
edge brinkers
Pond drinkers
Chant singers
Hallelujah screamers
Driving beamers.
The hot cup special,
walk around with your
shirt in this back seat
so you can bathe
neat
and look like a
beatnik steeped in heat
Or try to write
a poem on some tumultuous
feat.
And please see your
shrink
because you made him
blink.
And this mood is
passing
and this one is not
but it's latent
you see ?
And the kingpin is staring
you down
and gives you a wink.
Trapped in boney lapse
your tears finish last
and you can never ever
have fun or relax
and you sleep on trash
from your card that's
maxed.
