#pasadena
When the last strained
chord of the parade
blew sour and home sounded
good again and all the trash
was meticulously placed
on the floor there was
a bottle rocket peeling
past the grim-faced throng
to adorn ribcages
with a scatter of sparks
the desperate stink
of burning hair wafted
all was transgressed
and now the walk
of shame.
a swig of honeyed
gin and all was
right again
until next year
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
What if I told you
I wanted you
to taste my wiener?
What if I said
you could be
my **** housemaid, cleaner?
What if I intoned
in no uncertain terms
vices, all, just misdemeanors?
What if we
just played a **** game
and met, in Pasdena?
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC