"gadda" poems
home alone
keeled at the throne
rejecting the friends found in bottles and so
I look at the phone
my logic low flows
and I get the idea to call up an old **
but ***** brain says hay ** do you wanna bone
and she gets all ****** off like ah hell no
so now I gadda wonder if the drug life blows
blow that's an idea get my dealer on the phone
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
I climb to feed the rat
A gnawing unsatiable parasite
I climb not to die
But to live
The knife-edge ridge beckons
Could cut me to ribbons
The vertical ice shines - come forth
Into my womb
One foot after another
Endless
My lungs heave
My body yearns
I see visions
But are they real?
The white citadel calls
Come- and see God
Like a snake
In a Gadda Da Vida
Come to me
And die in my arms
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC