The texture flits in and out
like a spark hog, I guess, I mean a spark that’s all
like “I’m totally a spark n’ shit,” sparking shit blue moon
tongue depressors, but you knew this would happen, or preternaturally
supposed the future as it occurs, but sometimes it’s like yesterday
by the Beatles isn’t my favorite, ‘cause it’s kind
of doughty, it’s probably cause you hit her, whichever one that was
I forget shit all the time, and my girlfriend is increasingly reluctant
to believe thee readily evident, repeatedly reticent
panoramic period ending the sentence, and then it starts
“Again, crackers!” crackers this time, cheerio that is
as in “that is,” a good pip, when you pop.
explicative pretense denied, bitches, this is my coaster
rain-soaked chinchilla prostitute in the future, a pig in every poke
on the literal use of terms, pejorative leaning Mamet monologue
you son of a bitch, the truth handles your ass or some shit
I’m so Sorkin, showing itself a gag on fire
speech of truth, which has never been written
before now, madness fudge-battered cocaine spectacle
sounds tasty in the sun, but it would totally melt so
it would probably kill you, unless you were a hardcore
user specific, or lucky like me I guess.