"junkys" poems
I have had my very own punk meals
With the fish, the junkys, big men from Your City.
When
(after synchronized feasting
Each recognizing the glory of putting Earth to lips)
I talk about the meat,
An invariably raw & ***** thing,
I am received poorly, instinctively pushed away with
Junky/fish shrugs.
I don’t mind junkys
But I want to know:
What do they eat when we sit side by side?
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC