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BusbarDancerPoems
People only ever want to ask me about the poetry - those verses about busted up noses in outer space; about the pros working way down passed the corner of Broad and Main; about fistfights and hard, hard drinking. But I built a flowerbed this weekend... Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks in a crescent moon shape, filled with the blackest of soils. The sweat of toil. The digging. The planting. Exotic grasses. Asian maybe? Purple and yellow flowers. Zinnias or some **** thing. All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch. It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands instead of blood. No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.
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May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
My Baby Likes The Smell Of Two-Cycle Engine Oil
People only ever want to ask me about the poetry - those verses about busted up noses in outer space; about the pros working way down passed the corner of Broad and Main; about fistfights and hard, hard drinking. But I built a flowerbed this weekend... Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks in a crescent moon shape, filled with the blackest of soils. The sweat of toil. The digging. The planting. Exotic grasses. Asian maybe? Purple and yellow flowers. Zinnias or some **** thing. All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch. It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands instead of blood. No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.
BusbarDancer
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BusbarDancer
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
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