Thursday, June 11, 2009

wed, dj night in club, i try not to lose temper with 22 yr olds. bar napkin poem.

If a woman bids adieu Paris-bound & a baby in her belly & her man is a young veteran brings it home, slams fist on the formica, coffee spill, you aint going nowhere, tile brown dog lick coffee & mercy this New England morning. The ship boarded, pushes, her mama cries & dad gone & Annabelle back in Ga smolders a fire out front the 1st Baptist as we wouldve done what we werent supposed to, smoking behind the barn when you grow the precious precious you had hands, hips, hair dulled by work & if she does not seem capable to him, atleast she's well-dressed. I get tired go to hell Jack I hate yr guts all weekend, my 70 cents to yr dollar, yr boys & their 'let me get on some'o that Patron Silver' & his passive girl a doe-eyed vodka-cran. Man's world, atleast she's well-sequined ooh la, how I get all alone in Feb in NYC, bass riff, Bud lite, fan whirl, the smoke machine go-getters, Marilyn on a grate on Lexington. Im more & should carry weaponry I miss oak so much sometimes; there aint horses here, there's neonry.