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"blinged" poems
A box junction,dysfunctional miscommunication,down by the station in one more of its type,a shattered crack pipe and a broken down motormouth man,spanning the distance between here,over there,swiping the air,pissing his pants,ranting at rainbows,begging from strangers, he's just another of the night time ghost rangers,a shadow that falls off imagination and walled off behind solidified dried up and **** out hot dreams that appeared to be real,in the stealing of childhood in the big world bad wild hood,where the good don't die young but are used as the fate bait for just wait and see state, you get in,when you stick the pins in your veins,bleed drain fluid cleaner, how keen are you now? How the mighty have risen to be crushed,cast aside on the mad ride to stardom in the Kingdoms of blinged up and blind men, dazzle me, quick me,me brain's oh so sick me, and sometimes I wonder and sometimes I don't. I won't make apologies to pygmy type minds who only find it within them to carp,criticise,and as I prise up the mountains to catch moles for my dinner,I ask of my god,just who is this winner that's wrote of on totems? Poles apart we start in the middle,fiddle the figures which figures not in the outcome and I come out fighting, delightful in madness where the sad can't attack me,where the strait jacketed banality of life is finally flushed,where I'm not rushed in decisions,make insightful incisions with obscure ramifications and cut anyway,cut everything away and cast off. A bit like knitting but not with wool.
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Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Wired and live
A box junction,dysfunctional miscommunication,down by the station in one more of its type,a shattered crack pipe and a broken down motormouth man,spanning the distance between here,over there,swiping the air,pissing his pants,ranting at rainbows,begging from strangers, he's just another of the night time ghost rangers,a shadow that falls off imagination and walled off behind solidified dried up and **** out hot dreams that appeared to be real,in the stealing of childhood in the big world bad wild hood,where the good don't die young but are used as the fate bait for just wait and see state, you get in,when you stick the pins in your veins,bleed drain fluid cleaner, how keen are you now? How the mighty have risen to be crushed,cast aside on the mad ride to stardom in the Kingdoms of blinged up and blind men, dazzle me, quick me,me brain's oh so sick me, and sometimes I wonder and sometimes I don't. I won't make apologies to pygmy type minds who only find it within them to carp,criticise,and as I prise up the mountains to catch moles for my dinner,I ask of my god,just who is this winner that's wrote of on totems? Poles apart we start in the middle,fiddle the figures which figures not in the outcome and I come out fighting, delightful in madness where the sad can't attack me,where the strait jacketed banality of life is finally flushed,where I'm not rushed in decisions,make insightful incisions with obscure ramifications and cut anyway,cut everything away and cast off. A bit like knitting but not with wool.
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12
Sweating like pigs we avoid everyone's gaze because in the world I grew up in a second glance meant giving them a chance; blinged out heels and tight shorts leaves no one to guess at who we are but we don't give a **** – order our burritos nothing special here double large horchatas and my hair seems too straight all of a sudden but we're too high to be overly self-conscious or at all so we laugh to each other loudly pretending we're the only ones there
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Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Burritos At Noon In High Heels
Coffee to sharpen our minds ***** to dull our senses Meetings to shape our town Dinners to mend the fences Leaving our work at the door Listening to our spouses ***** Looking down on a homeless dude He don't know how tough it is To keep up this ******** day after day That's heroic man When all you want to do is take off And leave it all behind Get on the open road Born to be wild Leave your stress and kids behind **** this treadmill life Where's my slice of glory? Where's my name in lights? Where my *** Drugs and Rock and Roll!? Where's my blinged out Nikes? Where's my drugged out supermodel? Where's my bootie-full ** How did life get so boring? Man I just don't know. **** time to pick up the kid from band practice!
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Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
Suburban Heroes