Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

blip blip blip
there he is.

that mother without drunk.
that horrible lee intoxicating fucking smashed poet
to be.

he hides under bridges
drinking spread hing his gray fitti

penning insane anthems
dialing all those wrong numbers

clutching those heads spreading anar key.
see?
it is all in suffix cation.

cruci fiction.

chug blip blip (sound of a lighter lighting)

there he is.

twenty two

He knows himself

I was talking about you

to him

out on the street at sixteen

smother love of mother bitch

father prick

we had a good night talking

I spun tales of the mighty yabyum

smiles from him

He mother tells me half truths

in truth the young woman jumped his bones

lied about what ever reason she gave

why she could not...

baby due soon

it must have been a miracle

I know carriage returns don't make poetry

but usefull for illiterates like me

I can't hear a word of this

but I can hear you and wireman.