3:45 am
i am drunk
writing poems
writing.
this prostrate
position
always gets my back
hurting.
i look on the veranda
and see fucking
nice blonde
mean looking thug
fucking
i am writing
i like to fuck too!
i should do that instead
fuck
but who?
i make the call
dirty blonde
fishbucket hair
i finish
lay
think
"get out whore"
i say to the
door
she listens good
but smells bad.
ahhhh life!!!
more fucking?
or more writing?
that is always my
burden
to bear
2 comments:
hey, at least you have the choice.
But she was a prostitute-"fishbucket hair". Every one has that choice. It was really meant to be sad, to exude the loneliness of introspection.
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