A runaway
ducking landlords
just back from timbuktu
containing
wild
wild
and some rite of
some protective voodoo
dialing for
d
o
l
l
a
r
s
I don't have
I just gotta get through
Beggars call collect and the alms are anyone's ears,
anyone
will do
The receiver,
eternity's choir
Singing
soggy
sorry
gloom
The preacher man's a liar
Just tell God to let me through
My tongue
becomes
a sublimated jazz singer spitting
my soul impromptu
some
R a p i d f i r e
c o n f e t t i
At a party where everyone is mute
Their silence unsettling
the space between rings, music
I'm going to
lose it
stop
traffic has gone bebop
Outside the booth
While the rain is trying at the blues
But I know that song
and I know me
it's way
out
of
tune
Singing, Hey mama!
I'm so sorry I flew the coop
I should of changed from my pajamas
But I still had some furious flu
So I got
down
with
the
sickness
Because the cure won't
fit in a tablespoon
Even still,
I hope to get through
the kind of hope thats put me
At the
bottom of the
booth
Bi t i n g
ankles
moon
Howling
at the
Giving
up
to
a
gambit.
Who am I even talking to?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
A runaway
ducking landlords
just back from timbuktu
containing
wild
wild
and some rite of
some protective voodoo
dialing for
d
o
l
l
a
r
s
I don't have
I just gotta get through
Beggars call collect and the alms are anyone's ears,
anyone
will do
The receiver,
eternity's choir
Singing
soggy
sorry
gloom
The preacher man's a liar
Just tell God to let me through
My tongue
becomes
a sublimated jazz singer spitting
my soul impromptu
some
R a p i d f i r e
c o n f e t t i
At a party where everyone is mute
Their silence unsettling
the space between rings, music
I'm going to
lose it
stop
traffic has gone bebop
Outside the booth
While the rain is trying at the blues
But I know that song
and I know me
it's way
out
of
tune
Singing, Hey mama!
I'm so sorry I flew the coop
I should of changed from my pajamas
But I still had some furious flu
So I got
down
with
the
sickness
Because the cure won't
fit in a tablespoon
Even still,
I hope to get through
the kind of hope thats put me
At the
bottom of the
booth
Bi t i n g
ankles
moon
Howling
at the
Giving
up
to
a
gambit.
Who am I even talking to?
Request permission to use this poem