The Mondrian print I have on my apartment wall

behind my computer

is shitty, sort of, and the Rothko print is much better

behind me on the floor, scattered among free fly shapes

made falling from the sky

in formation, like a doodle

penis shape, notebook margin

sunbathing, kaleidoscope blues

squeak the pundits, bouncing ball

lobelly babbling, squabelly traveling, what does it matter

in the end to be truthful, is the point

of morality to judge winners

and losers?  I am better than the best

of you in this room, hear record of my tales,

Everyday I give my girlfriend a foot rub

almost

to completion, orgasmically

speaking, and it puts her to sleep

every time, which is useful

when planning bank heists, make sure sure you use chicks

with bonko knockers, of course.