‘It’ s all Greek to me’
squeaks average
frustrated chump.
WE
An unusual lack of grip
like dreams of flying.
Try as we might, it’s
simply no use.
Our chocolate teapot
stands the test of a
continuum. Ashtrays
adorn motorcycles,
Concierge seeks a lobby
worthy of his snoot. Glass
hammers eye up rubber nails,
shedding curved utensils;
surplus to feasibility.
A lacklustre attempt at taming
inner visions, let us together
ignore each other. We are better
together, united in glorious apathy.
Stugots
Bacchus
gracelessly dashing across
the mausoleum.
gynaeceum;
I dream of
a vagina museum.
‘It’ s all Greek to me’
squeaks average
frustrated chump.
Tenth avenue freeze-out
boosts me from dirty dreams
of infinite Sicilian lemons
and Paulie Walnuts.
Irrational and cranky,
you can take 2020;
give it back
to the fucking Brits.
Wrap it up in gabagool.
They’ ve had enough
of our potatoes.
No Pill Dreams
Oscillate Wildly
Keeping us temperate.
Our tempers ate away
at Joan’ s
Arc;
not good enough for
prime-time
viewing.
Audible silence haunts
my sleepless
trucker jacket.
A good looking corpse
most of the time, I sheepishly
horse it
in.
East of Eden
South to safety.
Not a whiff of a let-up
I wind down
the window.
“Is this your vehicle?”
etcetera.
Woa!