torn labels

that's mad a poet in our apartment
defiling our bed gods
can i only imagine –
th cough syrup, gin, and orgies;

hey, he’s got it :: 
fucking is
cock writing

                his obligation to th flute girl
                is in some scent
                less or gone

so buck up
     drink up     buttercups
                         sick in th bathroom
                             can’t sleep, blacky
                                   
                                   th night and all it’s bubble
                                            stumbles a sleepless poet in our apartment

# posted by hardyf : 12:31