Insurance papers the young things cheerleading

Incommunicable think what you will—
it is all about you empathiser—
I am I, nothing about a sir—
listen, you are one tongue
no one spoke but your genes
that sir you were guilty of—
surely you alone have heard a fart—
picked as the old mammy your navel
out the cotton of it but your heart—
incommunicable, read that,
unable for the commune potluck,
same as I the lily-white leper sir—
try to fuck cripple sometimes, sometimes—
predicaments, will not think
beyond his angry sleep he
knows not the reason of—
god is facade but gentleman
I got some silk on I repeat—
wake up and be the same old same she—
well—okay, be that way or breathe,
it’s not much to me.
Look elsewhere the agent way,
sure, looking is not thought,
not the wish you wish you had
to act, sir, except being only
the foul air or nothing, sir boy!
When you are honey, you are just honey—
a little more sir to deem deep—
a point here about the alien mouth
you yourself will not bother with—


~ by Jeremy on May 24, 2011.

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