In which ditch should I waste this flesh
For you to feel superior?
On which street to make a fool of myself?
Why not Satisfy all your 'highness's evil wishes
And be the lousiest there is?
Saint garbage, saint crap, saint ****...
Saint all the ****** and ****** people making of you
The greatest and most loved.

Garbage, garbage,
Trashing lives,
All recycled, changed, undermined
A demon' s wishes...
To keep all this garbage
In real life.

Garbage, saint garbage
Producer of honey in your lives.

its all franchises
as far as you might see
burger joints, taco houses, and pizza parlors
dot the horizon

the whole lot
greasier than the pan
than the canola oil, a whole can of pam

its warehouse-sized stores
full of disgruntled
shuffling cheap trash
package to shelf
packaged for the shelf
in anticipation to sit

listen a while
under the low murmur
of the machine humming
you can hear ma n pop wailin'

Why did you toss me out the back door like yesterday's trash?

Sweet moments swiftly kicked far from your life without a second look or thought

Something innocent at first grew to be such a ****** excuse for a relationship

You cannot ever undo your mistake

I will never let anybody else throw my love away ever again

I love rambling cacophonies of abstraction words dripping lust plush and velvety sugared in pipe tobacco like Jack Rubys old joint no symbols to trip the flow odd bits of alliteration skipping stones slowly along the rails in legion divergent trains of thought but I am no McCarthy probing the inner turmoil of the Southern mind maybe riding I will tap out a poem about a poet writing poetry God I hate that **** or maybe something referencing my username the song Bad Company off the album Bad Company by the band Bad Company thrice I have called thy name and thus I do bind thee oh well you are what you eat I suppose to which I would usually respond ***** a bit crass maybe pretty ******* too hah **** it its just wordsandshit WordsandotherTrash

there's nothing left for me to do,
I'm just a nobody to everybody,
with me they are done & through, already gone & deleted
from their human minds,

like a recording that's gone before rewind,
nothing but their trash,
after it's burned down to ash,
like ashes to dust,
I'm still scattered here & there,
still just making a mess.

the bolt is stripped
worn from years of tightening
and the washer is worse
barely keeping them from contact
though we say we can stomach it
guts can only carry so far
where we've little else