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adam-breen
Poems2
Followers4
Words182
That codeine buzz Johnnie Walker high better in lounge than air because you don't fly enough for them to love you **** it down while you can. Proportion pharmas well No Xanax pre-layover Nobody likes an airport sleeper And only your mum catches wheelchairs off planes. Give me night trips, hot hostesses to while away the time while I burn my life through this strange jet-propelled existence loving only freedoms expressed between confines of steel. Freedoms reduced our liberty sharpened, exalted with easy available power points.
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Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Cattle Class by Night
That codeine buzz Johnnie Walker high better in lounge than air because you don't fly enough for them to love you **** it down while you can. Proportion pharmas well No Xanax pre-layover Nobody likes an airport sleeper And only your mum catches wheelchairs off planes. Give me night trips, hot hostesses to while away the time while I burn my life through this strange jet-propelled existence loving only freedoms expressed between confines of steel. Freedoms reduced our liberty sharpened, exalted with easy available power points.
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19
for Kate and Nicola and Wayne and Paul and Cameron and Skye and Kylie and Nathan and Cameron and the weird guy next door.   Here’s to you, my crazy friends You ******** misfits too cool for my school But you liked me anyway, you let me read you my book of poems You played Bone Machine while I was tripping We walked through the suburbs looking for fairies, We slept with each other despite my huge crush on you You liked me anyway. You taught me to smoke **** To stop hating on op shop clothes while I wore Country Road and cashmere vests. We watched the sun come up, smelling of sweat and drugs and DJs’ last hurrahs and dark old warehouses, kerosene fire batons and your menthol cigarettes. I gave you Siddhartha and Guildenstern and Rosencrantz, though it wasn’t the first time. I loved it all: the guitars, the punk chords, the dodgy old houses in run down parts of West End, the random houses, the secret nights smoking your Champion Ruby in my old *** pipe because we’d run out of **** and Henry Miller wouldn’t settle for just plain ***** Bohemian Cafés and curries, girlfriends turned turncoat then lesbians, your secret *** parties that I never found out about ‘till years later your Mezz Mezzrow typewriter and bright candles of novel beginnings that never saw the light of day.  Her sweet little hips showing a little too clearly with the the shining light from inside as it lit her silhouette on your balcony. I miss you guys, with your madness your friendships and deep inner hipness that wasn’t in me. So it’s years later now, we’re old and I ain’t seen you in years. Wayne showed up in a café one day with CDs of his latest, still cool I was studying Mandarin, and I wanted to reconnect He gave me his number but I didn’t call him, I can’t explain why. You showed up one day, “weren’t you going to come and say hello?” I was but I still don’t know how.
0
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
Ride
for Kate and Nicola and Wayne and Paul and Cameron and Skye and Kylie and Nathan and Cameron and the weird guy next door.   Here’s to you, my crazy friends You ******** misfits too cool for my school But you liked me anyway, you let me read you my book of poems You played Bone Machine while I was tripping We walked through the suburbs looking for fairies, We slept with each other despite my huge crush on you You liked me anyway. You taught me to smoke **** To stop hating on op shop clothes while I wore Country Road and cashmere vests. We watched the sun come up, smelling of sweat and drugs and DJs’ last hurrahs and dark old warehouses, kerosene fire batons and your menthol cigarettes. I gave you Siddhartha and Guildenstern and Rosencrantz, though it wasn’t the first time. I loved it all: the guitars, the punk chords, the dodgy old houses in run down parts of West End, the random houses, the secret nights smoking your Champion Ruby in my old *** pipe because we’d run out of **** and Henry Miller wouldn’t settle for just plain ***** Bohemian Cafés and curries, girlfriends turned turncoat then lesbians, your secret *** parties that I never found out about ‘till years later your Mezz Mezzrow typewriter and bright candles of novel beginnings that never saw the light of day.  Her sweet little hips showing a little too clearly with the the shining light from inside as it lit her silhouette on your balcony. I miss you guys, with your madness your friendships and deep inner hipness that wasn’t in me. So it’s years later now, we’re old and I ain’t seen you in years. Wayne showed up in a café one day with CDs of his latest, still cool I was studying Mandarin, and I wanted to reconnect He gave me his number but I didn’t call him, I can’t explain why. You showed up one day, “weren’t you going to come and say hello?” I was but I still don’t know how.
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