Did anyone hear my cry in the middle of the floor?
God knows you saw it but the music was so louder than my stupid fucking shirt.
I suppose everyone gets a few in their lifetime.
But I wasn't quite ready for it, not right then anyway.
Maybe a bit later in the night.*
God I say maybe a lot. Only thing I'm (not even that) sure about is while I'm alive, I'll feel alive.
I know they're not my words. But hold it against me. Please... I have nothing to do right now. A healthy meaningless passive confrontation would be great right now. Somehting to pass the time.
Did you know Robin Black is an ultimate fighter now? Turns out black eyes are the new Black. It's cheaper than make-up. Yuo just need little shorts, fingerless gloves (you can make those for free) and an entrance song. power-pop-punk-rock or otherwise is fine... So that's nice for him.
That's genuinely not clever.
I've played chess many times, But I'm game if you are.
Thanks for the tips grandpa.
*the shirt or the cry?
The combed cotton
or the rage brought on
by a shoe stomped on
by a tripping teen, tripping just long enough to forget where he can walk on.
The dancing or the shotgun
of beers or of vodka
the bar mat slopped on
until thoughts burn holes large enough to lead you to the octogon (like robin black!)
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1 comment:
william,
rumor has it you are east-bound come march. is this the truth? I hope so. we can bounce a ball & drink pints & speak french & karaoke in the village. I can finally commission you, as I have been meaning to since NOT bidding high enough at an art party, to build me a giant pair of wooden scissors. we can laugh together about how lovely it feels to spend a winter in minus two weather & how much we miss slurpees.
allez-y, LB.
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