"lackey" poems
slave is someone who does not have authority over their own lives slave is someone subservient controlled dominated by somebody something slave works very hard for little or no pay slave is property of somebody something slave is someone forced to obey
sycophant is someone servile who overly flatters more powerful individual for personal gain sycophant is bootlicker brown-noser fawner flunkey doormat lackey lap-dog yes-men parasite toad-eater (pause reposition) somebody possessed of excessive vanity may cultivate sycophant swarms
side by side they stand clothed in black not quite similar the one slightly taller possibly because the other suffers poor posture perhaps they are related because in odd way they appear alike or of same ilk yet upon closer scrutiny it becomes apparent they have very little or nothing in common the taller one with troubled sad eyes the other smiling obsequiously the taller one more muscular ***** from working menial labor the other with curved spine slumped shoulders because of undue bowing and crouching while blowing smoke up other people’s *****
sadist is someone who attains ****** gratification by inflicting physical pain shame to other people sadist is someone who delights in excessive cruelty degradation to others
********* is someone who achieves ****** pleasure from being hurt humiliated abused dominated punished often self-inflicted ********* is someone who enjoys being harmed misused mistreated ignored by others
sadomasochist is someone who gets ****** gratification by alternately or simultaneously enduring hurt causing pain to somebody else sadomasochist is combination of sadistic masochistic tendencies in someone who obtains ****** pleasure from inflicting submitting to pain cruelty
sycophant slave snakes up leg of movie actress dictator who gains pain through pleasure 2000 miles from equator IED cell phone detonator sycophant dilettante ***** up to sadistic art critic or publishing editor on escalator while below on main floor of shopping mall ice rink figure skater pirouettes bows to nominator surreptitiously bribed by infiltrator mutilator
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
With Lackey and Heyward both turning blue
The Chicago Cubs scored a mighty big coup
Kind of a payback for Brock, comma Lou?
What, oh what are the Cardinals to do?
We’re pretty sad, say the fans dressed in red,
That both of those guys chose Chicago instead
But a person would have to be daft in the head
To give up the St. Louis Cardinals for dead.
Yes, the Cubbies think that they have enough
But the whole NL Central is pretty **** tough,
Which team do you think will have the right stuff?
To win in September, when winning gets rough?
2016 will be pretty fun.
There’s quite a Division race to be run
When game 162 is finished and done
We will see which team, the most games, has won.
Yes, next year the race will be closely contended
During the season you might have me un-friended
But in winter time, our rivalry suspended
We can cheer for the Bears till their season is ended.
Phil Lindsey 12/12/15
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest
When first he takes from out the hidden shrine
His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,
And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,
Feels not such awful wonder as I felt
When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,
And all night long before thy feet I knelt
Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.
Ah! hadst thou liked me less and loved me more,
Through all those summer days of joy and rain,
I had not now been sorrow’s heritor,
Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.
Yet, though remorse, youth’s white-faced seneschal,
Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee—think of all
The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!
3.1k
Errant Lackey's
Erroniously Labor,
Over Big Boss Butts!
Searching for the
Special Spot to Kiss
As if Lips were
Made for that.....
........JMF 9/29/14
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
I opened an email today. I was told of how I must look "Good" in order to be "Taken Seriously" or "If People wish to Even Take You At All."
Like David Copperfield, The Caged Tiger, and The Joker.
Placed in "One Big Finale." The "Entertainment" of this "Show" had started.
The Joker was not like all the rest. He became evil by being outcast,since youth, into adulthood; for scars that were not of his own doing.
He decided to "Pay Back" The "Normals" in one big "Contest to Win The right To Live and Not for the Tiger to have your "Pretty Little Faces to Maw."
David Copperfield thought he could Escape and to "Save everyone's day" "From the scared up ugly which had made "His own choice to become Evil."
As the judges took their seats, the contest was about to begin.
A puff of smoke, some mirrored tricks, and a flashed destraction and David thought he was "Home Free."
Grabbing for the form in the clouds he thought was the "Joker," he grasped for the capture.
"Poor Magic Boy!" - The Joker sneered as he took his place at the start. To grab some finally deserved spot light and a chance to **** an "Animal with Color that isn't Very Hard to Use for David's Adventures."
Whipping at the beast and working in a wooden chair, finally the Tiger Spoke Out.
"Why must you Human's Use me as a prop? A
Defined Addition as People's Property?"
"Why So Serious? You've got your fame, as Magic Boy's Lackey!"
Swiping the Joker to the ground with one strong whip of his front left paw, he knocked out the Joker, but, he never killed him.
Busting out the door, running for the Jungle.
Words were understood as the "Prop Animal" ran for his freedom.
"What makes me different, Makes Me Strong. I survive not only because of my 'Animal Survival Instincts,' however, the faith and determination to fight for my rights to be true to who and what I am and to be free."
"Free to rule My Own Earned thrown in my Rule in my very own Kingdom."
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
The cauldron bubbles and sputters and pops.
Odors from a foul witches' brew
Fill the mansion. It's called the Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
A ghoulish warlock babbles gibberish,
Spreading deceit, anger, and fear.
He summons his lackey ghouls to his chamber.
They bow to the ghastly profiteer.
Their incantations reverberate
Through the rooms and down the halls.
The din stifles the voices of reason
And bounces off the windows and walls.
Witches assisting the grisly assembly
Grovel and spew nonsensical chatter,
While friendly ghosts, horrified,
Grab all their belongings and scatter.
The leading warlock raises his staff
To silence all the ear-piercing shrieking.
"Our work here has barely begun,"
He shouts, "in a manner of speaking.
"We have a lot more poison to spread
To circulate anxiety and doubt.
All we must do is stir the ***
To give them something to worry about.
"Fan the flames of division and discord.
My techniques are tried and true.
Keep 'em guessing; then you've got 'em.
And then you cater to the chosen few.
"We have more rivers to poison,
Coastlines to alter, lands to sell,
Coffers to fill, coffers to rob,
And voices to quiet. Welcome to hell!"
The glowering sycophants dance and cheer--
Thirsty for blood, eyes agleam.
"Dishonesty is the best
Policy," they fervently scream.
Oh, it's a frightening Halloween night
When one's worst nightmare comes true:
The gruesome, macabre, spine-chilling Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
-by Bob B (10-31-18)
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Who in the Owl's Mind will text the Viper
To Strike once he swoops for his Evening Meal?
You see now, how Silly is this Encounter
Like making Soap from an already Dead Seal
Such Exaggerations warrant no Fare
To guide the Limo in price for a Hackney
Yet for her Shoulder you offered to Care
Whilst laughing at this desperate Lackey
Happy for you, a Word again-and-again
Flooding your Bell-Machine to Heart's Complaint
You must stop this as I must will do then
If Virtue your Chaperone keeps his Quaint.
So, the Song plays on and I on Paper
As you Party on and I don't Matter.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
Nod, vociferous lackey,
Agree that it will end just fine
You raise that hand to me, dying vine behind
Acknowledge every burning sun-drop
Culling and surmounting your radii--
Misled and triumphant
You're half of that.
Vast plantations of regrowth and abysmal
Serendipity in life?
No more;
Cut off-- a world harvest
Of blood, and blue-black poison
In the fields spewed
Once,
Not again
Not there-- again, the stalks
Lay dormant from your careless sickle
Numbers and numbers
Insurmountable
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
i.
Mine doting of thou,
Is not wilting amour;
Mine love is more
Then floating, outside
Thy door.
ii.
Even in mine woe,
And caging dolor;
I shouteth thy name,
"Sweet jane' mine girl.
iii.
Whilst even in mine
Suffering, and the
Battle I'm in; with
Satan and his lackey's,
I wilt step upon them.
With thy help, and God's
Discipline, Jane O' Jane,
I'll soareth to the highest
Apex, mine plume's to expand,
Wing's to stretch; Yahweh's mighty
Word, to push them back to the gates of death.
iv.
So mine Jane,
I telleth thou this;
I'm not losing amour,
Nor am I tenderness.
I'm in the stage, of trans-
Figuration, O' soon queen,
We shalt meet in blissfulness,
Beautiful apparition's. Ghost's of
Old, ancient soul's, we'll tasteth
Cascade's of mezmerdade; bralishas
Of barinthia, thitherward the province of
Ourn holy one, next to El Shaddai, meaning
Elohim, also Jehovah, mine Jane and honey-
Bee. Aside the Almighty's throne, And elevated
Seat, his son Jesus Christ on the right- garbed
In robes that floweth with the vim of life. As there
Shalt be none need for the sun or moon, the creator's
Ourn light. A place that's right, wherein there art none wrong's,
Ourn sin's art forgotten within the angelic song's, these song's wilt be sung, on a basis of eternity; none ending, just befriending of the saint's at God's feet. Wisdom shalt be deep, from the beginning of ages, none more false prophet's nor greedy men to ruin the nation's, Concord within ourn Lord shalt follow the month's, as Jane, mine swain, it wilt be in this time's happening;
It's still thee I shalt want. So hold on tightly, don't let loose of mine hand, we'll trounce these dark bearers, and pour holy oil upon their head's, None more wilt they torture us, as they'll flee instead, before of ourn Lord, Jesus Christ, the risen, the man, the son of God, ourn protection, whom hath arisen from the dead.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
Defrauding the public isn't hard
When you're one of the Trumps.
The president is especially good
At duping his loyal chumps.
So, after Trump fired James Comey,
He fired AG Sessions.
Those two firings were just a part
Of the president's indiscretions.
Next came Matthew Whitaker--
A Donald Trump lackey--
As acting AG, and whose background
Was--let's say--a bit tacky.
Now AG Barr is there
To willingly play his part
And show how he and Trump are both
Connected heart to heart.
Barr's recent appointment has
Very clearly shown
That the president has managed
To get his Roy Cohn.
Keeping Congress from seeing the full
Mueller report, Barr
Acts LESS like a fair AG
And MORE like a czar.
Flouting the rule of law, Trump
And Barr, political hacks,
Can end up doing a lot of damage
Behind Americans' backs.
Now Barr has mentioned the word
"Spying." It never fails
That Trump's appointees tend to go
Completely off the rails.
Making Trump a victim only
Satisfies his base.
Trump and Barr don't care whether
Their actions are a disgrace.
Now the tinfoil-hat group can say
"All the acrimony
Toward Trump is a nasty plot."
What a bunch of baloney!
Our leadership has never been
So chaotic. Never!
Elections, they say, have consequences.
Boy do they ever!
-by Bob B (4-11-19)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
When remember I all the excellencies
That make us go into supreme ecstasies
Will someday be rotting fast away
In the grave and eventually turn to clay;
How my merry heart comes down
At once, letting go of my lady's gown
And my risen sun it duty shelves!
So all those ravishing things of jolly joy
Which heaven on women glaring bestows
That turn a beefy man to a lackey boy
Shall by and by become shadows?
However I recalled the words of Solomon:
That man needs must relish his ***** wife
And his chosen work in this vain life.
Hence my hanging duty again was done
In jolly jolly yummy
With my honey honey mummy.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 2:18 AM UTC
I am May
home to fey
orchard ermine,
pear leaf blister,
rhomboid tortrix,
light emerald,
lackey, vapourer,
fruitlet mining tortrix,
small eggar and lappet
folded wings are
doors attracted to light
collect my fragrant
white flowers,
red fruits
and bathe
in fleshdecay
to fold into lovemake
give birth
avoid my blades
I always ask blood
of the careless
I will always ask
of you
what you do not wish to give
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
Are we so utterly destroyed?
Are we raised to be lowered
into depths
a man can not physically dig?
Why do we seek a hell
so obviously guised as heaven?
Are we beyond repair?
Can we never be fixed
to match the idea
of a standard model?
Would you want to?
Did these gears in the machine
ever have a chance
to pass inspection in the first place?
Was I doomed upon that assembly line?
Were we all?
Am I the reject
in the dollar bin
of a land
full of selfish
consuming
monsters
who have no teeth of their own
waiting for their masters to chew
and regurgitate back
into their joyous awaiting mouths?
Is the way I write this
too imperfect?
Does this gain me nothing
but a stroke of ego?
Should I expect to deserve more?
too little product?
a lackey robotic?
Not enough dollar signs
to place upon it?
Are these feelings, feelings anymore?
Or are they nothing
but programmed responses?
Am I alive
by falling from the branch
of a toxic Oak
only to pollinate
the oily soil?
Should I just
be a good slave
to the cult of "us"
and earn for myself
which no mortal
has right
putting a price tag on.
Can robots trust?
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
As I sat reading
one of the bards tales
the laughter within me
could not be quelled
he wrote with authority
he wrote with some wit
his words seemed to match
with the joint I just lit
As I continued
to peruse the tale
A voice from the kitchen
slightly derailed
my narrowing focus
had suddenly gone south
it seemed that I now
had cotton in my mouth
I reached for the glass
beside on the stand
intending to quench
the thirst I now had
but not taking an eye
off the page before
I clumsily knocked
the drink to the floor
I looked around
if any had seen
where was the cat
when I really need
a lackey , a scapegoat
on which to lay blame
The voice from the kitchen
called out my name
"What was that noise?"
inquired the voice
looking around
I had but one choice
Take off my socks
and sopp up the mess
down the hallway
came her footsteps
Quickly I scrubbed
and scrubbed some more
the cranberry juice
had stained the floor
suddenly there
before me appeared
the fuzzy red slippers
which I so feared
"You've stained the carpet!"
spat my angry wife
I quivered and shrank
hopefully out of sight
"I've told you before
"your not allowed."
"to sit and read stories
with liquid around."
With my head bowed
I went for the door
containing the machine
I'd used before
patiently she watched
as I cleaned the spot
removing the stain
which I had wrought
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
I'll pinch-toss that lackey,
I'll drop-kick that knave,
Though lazed in his efforts,
He's little more than a slave.
A turn-key for hire.
I find my bile rise
At Hypocrites' dementia,
So I'll smile my good-byes.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
I fell for a madman, a lunatic, a clown
Knowing this all I can do is frown
For so many years I took his abuse
Him hunting a man who hides as Bruce
This cakey clown makeup will cover the bruise
A temporary reminder not to give him bad news
He threw me out the window, it’s not the first time
It’s all my fault, I got in the way of his crime
One thing I needed to remember, he’s the star of the show
It’s him and Batman, him and his foe
I was just a puppet, a means to an end
Maybe that why I met Ivy, I just needed a friend
I was charged to mend and fix his head
But it was him who got inside mine instead
My ambition clouded my judgment, all could see
He saw this flaw and decided to overtake me
I became his Harlequin, or at least I guess I was meant too
The issue is I thought for myself and didn’t share his worldview
He lured me in with sadness and my pity
He told me we would in the future rule Gotham city
I believed him, I changed into a red and black lackey
He said he just wanted to bring smiles and make himself happy
Mad love, it’s what the sirens called it
I guess they were right; how did I not take a hint?
But he never loved me, that much to me is now obvious
He hit, punched and dragged me, how was I so oblivious?
I was just a pawn in his mad Puppet play
I guess the joke was on me, isn’t that right Mr. J?
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
My inner turmoil is almost limitless
yet your patience seems to be infinite.
Some days I feel like I'm drowning
but I don't own it in pride or proudly.
My face goes beyond wrinkled lines
as if a frown could be a simple sign.
I have a hundred different smiles
and while some point to the sky
only three or four are truly happy
because I'm a dog without an owner
facing thousand others who won't own up,
so even without an owner
I'm somehow still feeling like a lackey.
So can you please find it in you
to come back and remind me
that when I need you, you'll be there.
My soul is bruised by inner turmoil,
so please go grab a shovel from the shed
and when I need it, please help bury me
in the sands, in the dirt and soul;
to relinquish the inner turmoil.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
this debt, this book, this tort,
so overdue, uncivil wrong demanding reconciliation,
that the librarians sent the hoodlums
to remind me of my obligations
there must be unfinished, three or four Gebbie precursors,
lying about awaiting further final definition
unmarshaled me, unable to see them through to completion,
but my hindsight, my guilty plea, aided by an assertive,
rear self-kicking, offers me some motivation immediacy
When I see the Auckland Sky Center in photos,
a hard hatted man with softest heart always,
is on top, doing his native Aussie global
(in place) walkabout, better to see,
the cubature volume of the global poetry underneath his feet,
the poetic underworld, needing a
Gebbie supervisory drilling read down
Enough!
unsatisfactory above this ditty notation for one who
tenders unto me comforting words that
drill down so deeply, keeping,
"the night shall not disrobe you,"
that only a single rhyming word
is satisfactory but yet too,
is insufficient to capture
the audio of innards weeping
surely aware, the nighttime, is when I best my own analytics,
disrobing in a room of black letters on a white background
for all who stumble by moonlight on the bards of "perchance,^"
giving pieces of me to the those who not only read my verses,
but those who ken
that the unspoken spaces in between,
containers of what is not writ,
but only modestly well hid,
is where lies oft the more important script
and he gets that...
where the skills when most needed?
his precision will deserves artistry, not sophistry,
and I am flailing, failing inadequately to pay my overdue
it is early morn in Taranaki,
perhaps he will see this lackey's lacking insufficiency,
before he goes climbing man-made towers
that bear witness
to mens bigger dreams,
perhaps when he returns later tonight,
in a snifter of old malt scotch,
his "last one for the road"
he will see it floating,
and think of me,
this time, happily,
disrobing mine soul's own nighttime,
trusting him to keep all safe,
entrusting it to him,
and to Janet,
my best,
red and black,
sweetest dreams
<>
https://hellopoetry.com/marshal-gebbie/
9/5/17 13:55pm
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
Tell me You own me,
My parts all inclusive:
Body, soul, pride, and my lust.
The wreck-happy given,
The floor lackey driven.
So quickly enveloped in trust.
Intelligence owing,
To each respect growing.
The wit savors no signs of rust.
This demon has proven,
Why angels set grooves in,
What we don't suspect,
well,
we must.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
Let's pretend I can read your mind.
What unkind words would you not say,
whose name would you hide?
What places would you flee, in dismay,
or wish to Caribbean cruise to?
If I could hear your love,
what would it tell me
that I do not already know?
What kind of fantasies would whisper?
Will your fears be softly moaned,
or scream loudly to be let go?
Let's pretend you knew I could
hear deeper all your silences,
how many flatteries, there, would echo
like broken vinyl,
a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire...on the road…
Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew,
still believe in them?
Still make me believe you good?
(never telling the truth)
Let's say you could
hear my thoughts... my inner worth...
Would you condemn me and herald my secrets?
Command me for your work
make me a lackey
or say I'm crazy
to everybody—a nobody...?
If you could see inside me
or feel my worst hurts,
would you understand \why and how
my heart should burst?
And of course, this is all make believe,
imagination at it's height,
but true life is another sort
of his and her stories….
from our minds' eyes
to witness
to be told : be realized.
And every tale has once come true:
man now
flying, cloning,
in rockets to the moon,
I'm sure my fiction will be
written soon, if not already
In that book...
what kind of mood
“He” must of had when craving
King & Koontz
the idea of me...
(and “god” knows who)
scratching chin
his beard of white
in a bowl of crocodile tears,
playing pretend,
and silent night
our living years...in a sigh.
(No need to read your mind
I can feel your lies, goodbye.)
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
Temple of Artemis;
Steal the cheese,
But remember
It isn't free!
For Artemis is always hunting!
Hunger.
But who puts out the dairy?
Wisdom.
For the kid who doesn't
Feel the need to thieve.
For the outsider of the pack;
For who wanders back
Carrying foodstuffs
They foraged,
They collected.
This is a leader.
"For why did you not steal, coward?!"
"I am not cowardly."
"Not fit then, lackey!?"
"I can lift, I can run."
"Then what was it?"
"The others couldn't."
"Your kind then, eh?!
You're kind then, eh!?"
"I'm good
As long as 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥."
It is for the stranger of the temple
Who is no stranger to the temple!
One who cares for the altars, one & all.
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 7:28 PM UTC
Close by her side he paused to stand, as he took the class ring off her hand.
All who were watching dared not to speak, as a lonely tear rolled down his cheek.
Family and friends broke out in tears, as he whispered "I Love You" into her ear.
All thru his mind the memories ran, the moments they shared walking hand and hand.
Now her hands were so terribly cold, he never again will have her to hold.
Looking back at that horrible ordeal, she wasn't as sober as she thought she'd feel.
They all said goodnight, and she went on her way, now such a tradegy they all pray.
As soon as the wind started to blow, they lowered her casket into the snow.
Too many people carry the pain, of a lost loved one who had nothing to gain.
Friends don't let friends drink and drive! Leann Lackey
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
Balance never restored gotta take the time to reach for
A goal but I'm steady taking detours
Depression at its finest couldn't be cured with no diamonds
Cause the void could never be filled
Still be poppin these pills
Every single day is just a cycle
Taking steps to not feel ******
Grasping tight onto a bible
Getting high for all those times low
Aint no place like home inside my mind tho
Theres no winning so this journey almost feel like Shiloh
So maybe I'll take life slow in hopes that I dont plateau
Always been an old soul so my skin I've outgrown
Always been a leader but nobody ever followed
Truth be told is all I want's a better day tomorrow
I've been living with this sorrow
But im glad I got the will to never feel like i have gotta grab the bottle
And im glad I got people I can trust on
Ain't stable by myself feel like I need someone to love on
Another part of me just wants somebody I can **** on
Another part of me feels like he wants to be alone
I've been indecisive for too long im on my toes
I been tryna avoid this feeling of paranoia
Dinner at mamas plate of rice seasoned with goya
This life is not a toy a little toddler destroys a
certain kind of psyche vision dies when he will grow a
Man is never happy hes just grown to be a lackey
A man is never free he slaves to money as a caddy
Lackin fundamentals to survive this hell on the earth
They **** you in your spirit way before you're in a hearse
Leave a mark
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
Let's pretend I can read your mind.
What kind of words would you not say,
whose name would you hide?
What places would you flee, in dismay,
or wish to caribbean-cruise to?
If I could hear your love,
what would it tell me
that I do not already know?
What kind of fantasies would whisper?
Will your fears be softly moaned,
or scream loudly to be let go?
Let's pretend you knew I could
hear deeper all your silences,
how many flatteries, there, would echo
like broken vinyl,
a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire... (blown)
Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew,
still believe them?
Still make me believe you?
(never telling the truth)
Let's say you could
hear my thoughts...
Would you condemn me and herald my secrets?
Command me for your work
make me a lackey
or say I'm crazy
to everybody a nobody...?
If you could see through me
or feel my worst hurts,
would you understand \why and how
my heart should burst?
And of course, this is all make believe,
imagination at it's height,
but true life is another sort
of story
from our minds' eyes
to witness
to be told : be realized.
And every tale has once come true:
man now
flying, cloning,
in rockets to the moon,
I'm sure my fiction will be
written soon
if not already in that book...
what kind of mood
He must of had when craving
King & Koontz
the idea of me...
(and god knows who?)
scratching chin
his beard of white
in a bowl of crocodile tears,
playing pretend,
and silent night
with our living years...
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 4:11 AM UTC