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.