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 Oct 2011 Robert Purvis
BAM
tease.
 Oct 2011 Robert Purvis
BAM
There is no love in ***, honey
Here we only do it for the money
We do it before we become old hags
We do it for that feel good drag

Bang, bang, choo choo train
Wrap her up into those chains
Give her your best shot
What about those gels you bought?

Maybe we should play a game
You be the bad boy I should tame
Teach you a lesson
No asking any questions

Make her moan
She’ll make you groan
Until a knocking at the door
And the next day she’s called a *****

So says the media
Everyone wants a piece of ya
*** shorty shake it down
Show them how you run the town

She’s the queen bee
There on her knees
Hey, he said down in front
So now she’ll have to make him grunt

**** that, I make them say please
They all think I’m just a tease
But I like it
So I won’t quit

**** me like a rolling stone
Go ahead feed me the bone
Nice girls finish last
Good thing nice girl’s in the past
 Oct 2011 Robert Purvis
BAM
help.
 Oct 2011 Robert Purvis
BAM
Mommy mommy come quick!
Theres a monster under my bed
Hes been under there for
Quite some time
And bedtime I now dread

Hunny, there are no monsters
‘mommy, please just listen!’
Just close your eyes
And itll be okay
Eventually dreamland will glisten

Mommy mommy come quick!
Theres a monster under my desk
Its lurking in the shadows
Of my chair
Hes being so grotesque

Listen dear, there are no monsters
Close those lids
Picture puppies in a field
Running with butterflies
And playing with kids

Mommy mommy come quick!
Theres a monster in my closet
I know hes there
Please sleep in here
Stay all night and watch it

Babygirl, there are no monsters
Now close your eyes and rest
Relax your mind
And breathe deeply
Tonight you will sleep your best

Mommy mommy come quick!
The monster is out right now
He is kneeling at my bedside
His hands are running through my sheets
I want to disappear somehow

But he wont leave
His fingers keep wandering
Mommy, I don’t like this massage
Please make him go away
And save me from all of this hurting
I am the only idiot who is so thick that he would think to take a walk
At three in the Monday morning

But I am not alone.
There are others,
Transient beings
Venturing forth into the shadows between the street lamps

No one is here to stay.
We are all travelers.
Where are you going?
From whence do you hail?

Why is there not silence? There is no one conscious here.
My footsteps do not make a sound. But the sounds are there.
Under every streetlamp, the highway sings.
It is an ugly song, but a song that calls one away never the less.

The sailors heard its prettier, younger voice.
Now it has grown old, and its voice is gravely from too many cigarettes
And it strains to keep singing, nothing but a cup of coffee holding it back
From peace.

Now, a dog.
Bashful, quiet, dark, tail held between its legs
Runs out under the streetlamp, beside I, the boy in the trench-coat and fedora
To donate to the national trust

He glances, back, and forth.
He knows I see him, but it don't matter.
We are partners in crime.
I am here, laughing at the world too.

Where are you coming from, friend?
The dog asks me.
No where. I like to think I am going somewhere beautiful, though.
Where are you going, friend? I ask the dog.
Paris, the city of lights. I have heard it is lovely this time of year.
Then godspeed, pooch, for your journey is a long one.
And with a nod, he let loose one more line: You realize you look like a ******, right?
And then he was gone.

Another transient being.
What a funny place
This world is
On Monday morning,
At three AM.

And here I am, heeding the highway's siren song.
 Dec 2010 Robert Purvis
BB Tyler
BTW
 Dec 2010 Robert Purvis
BB Tyler
BTW
by the way...
I didn't change...

You just got to know me better.

and so did I.
Copyright: Bennett Tyler
(I hate this poem because it's not true, but it may be for you)
 Dec 2010 Robert Purvis
BB Tyler
I love blasphemy
because it's bug-eyed.
and it lets you see
more than what you're looking at.

I love irony
because it tastes like blood,
bitter and healing.
They won't know what your feeling,
and you won't either.
It's perfectly horrible.
Ironic, really.

I love guilt.
that person inside
who knows more than you.
the one who glares out through
the gaps in your ribs,
sharing the space your
heart inhabits.

I love the sound of breaking glass.
the "*******!"
gently tinkling off your mistakes
like a bell
reminding you that
beauty breaks
and the shards are sharp.
Copyright: Bennett Tyler
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