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david-badgerowPoems
you taste like candy and i am starving and swallowing your tricks i dreamt of a greasy hotel and a box to sleep in. i am not a cannibal, i am not a sky diver & and i am not a pilgrim, but i hunger for your body and i'm falling for your holy curves. i will hang from your window and dance in the sunlight even though i am not a pink velvet curtain. i am a garbage-collector poet, fresh from the allabaster market who has found the words once lost in a dark fox hole near the bend of a lazily flowing river. all i need is a dime and a glass vase, a short story and a wet cigarette. i've come back to town--i climbed right out of that stop sign standing on a shotgun bullet-holed volkswagon with a 7 day hangover holding burning grace in my hands and you say "lead me to the garbage" carrying with you a bag of soggy french fries and i stop to show you a dying tulip, and we watch as it floats into a cloud. we'll hide all our money in a glowing furnace and as i try to write this with a water logged pen you show me pictures of shirley temple with her head in a noose. my name is not moses, and i do not want to be remembered.
0
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
garbage-collector poet/7 day hangover
you taste like candy and i am starving and swallowing your tricks i dreamt of a greasy hotel and a box to sleep in. i am not a cannibal, i am not a sky diver & and i am not a pilgrim, but i hunger for your body and i'm falling for your holy curves. i will hang from your window and dance in the sunlight even though i am not a pink velvet curtain. i am a garbage-collector poet, fresh from the allabaster market who has found the words once lost in a dark fox hole near the bend of a lazily flowing river. all i need is a dime and a glass vase, a short story and a wet cigarette. i've come back to town--i climbed right out of that stop sign standing on a shotgun bullet-holed volkswagon with a 7 day hangover holding burning grace in my hands and you say "lead me to the garbage" carrying with you a bag of soggy french fries and i stop to show you a dying tulip, and we watch as it floats into a cloud. we'll hide all our money in a glowing furnace and as i try to write this with a water logged pen you show me pictures of shirley temple with her head in a noose. my name is not moses, and i do not want to be remembered.
david-badgerow
Written by
david-badgerow
34/M/American
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
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