I am brushing
the RTA which
is my mouth,
my
teeth, when I glimpse
myself
in the bathroom
mirror.
God Damn.
If it wasn't
for the mildewed spots
like a cancer
on the glass
I might almost be a
handsome son of a bitch.
Friday, September 26, 2008
son of a bitch
I am brushing
the RTA which
is my mouth,
my
teeth, when I glimpse
myself
in the bathroom
mirror.
God Damn.
If it wasn't
for the mildewed spots
like a cancer
on the glass
I might almost be a
handsome son of a bitch.
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2 comments:
Pt. the 44th...
In which the witch cut a switch
Lashed you like the he sum'bitch
You were...
When all'a that 'real' shit came down...
Stitched yer itch, in a NY minute.
Worked yer soul for a discount.
Struck it.
Stiffed a tab and walked out.
Hey. Actually, I kinda like that. It's a bit like Bob Dylan's 300156th Dream.
And I was starting from the premise that your comment was a calculated insult. I like it nonetheless.
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