how one manages to keep his eyes open

‘av uhn
says he the drinker dry mister quoteworthy
further down the road
where crawl the drafted salts to the sides
of his ribs the road all along the fingers malt

fall, fall, rinse booty milk
from the sheets of the traveling tyrant
but sluts ask for more and ever along amour finds
further down the road
another rib to cradle, another eyelash to bat
until what they say love becomes a fable,
a rude calling and there’s no good tap for any foot,
walking, arun, drowsed, or drunk


Came out like shit, but it’s wrapt in a fucking bow. Fuck many a slut, L.

~ by Jeremy on August 20, 2008.

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