Monkeys too love them through

Through threir uncivilised nerves
the bastards talk to me.
Learn them. Their lips too
like hard liquor, one drink sober
then a lobby of sedative breathing.
Learn that rhythm. Body weight,
that too, and their blood,
blind in night, sucking like this one
on other things flinging through
untold nights. Can see telling
through a yelled at night
when darkling lamps make a man
out of tramps into college.
But what male makes intelligence
out of buildings first,
and second into college,
as though the genius sexes itself
like a lab for the perfect vomiting brain?

Won’t remember any of this shit for the GABA.–

Morning after. Whoa, shit, gotta stop writing drunk. Gotta stop writing drunk.

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~ by Jeremy on October 10, 2010.

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