get high on cinnamon and nutmeg,
specks of granules, pungent like rotting lemons
mixed with ashes and astringent
54321, exponential, we approach zero and then
the world will catch on fire.
but only then
and then is never
now.
I fight the pen and art
yells back into my hopeful face,
beads of sweat tumbling down
all the way to her hot mouth.
We always want to give up,
breaking off pasteur pipettes
in our flesh
and drinking lead.
Its raining and we sit under a small
column roof, smoking cigarettes
filling in cells with numbers --
"but your boat has a boombox, Your boat has sails
made of cum-stained bedsheets"
"you look like a wet cat, with glasses"
whatever. fuck off. get off my back
and we laugh
I need a dark beer and to understand
what it means to be "here"
I find mirror images of my lifestyle
in a Girls video
what the fuck
four days into spring and its going to snow tonight
but, the floor is lava,
keep it up,
whatever it is?
and i'll be on the water.
i'll be on that raging river
wishing on a band by the riverside
these kids listen to the music
of our parents' youth
but "all i know is that i doooonntt knoowww"
a pubescent punk
filed under Love, Horror and Junk.
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