I spill the notes
sing for the spreadsheet
the crowd is drowsy
sail past my quotes
mic smells like bad ****
the stools are lousy
beers filled to the brim
thoughtcrime-free
nineteen blokes
ate for me
but their broken skin
left my words alone
for the coaster-foam
to cradle their sin
the status-quo:
busy blondes, bubbling beer
and bulging bellies
all to bear, out
a fiery night.
the blokes drink dry
i spill the tea
and know my words
will fly
unseen
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 5:28 PM UTC
I spill the notes
sing for the spreadsheet
the crowd is drowsy
sail past my quotes
mic smells like bad ****
the stools are lousy
beers filled to the brim
thoughtcrime-free
nineteen blokes
ate for me
but their broken skin
left my words alone
for the coaster-foam
to cradle their sin
the status-quo:
busy blondes, bubbling beer
and bulging bellies
all to bear, out
a fiery night.
the blokes drink dry
i spill the tea
and know my words
will fly
unseen
Someone listens sometimes, someday, somehow.
Request permission to use this poem