Oh, this foul currency!
fevered up from the stewing *** of pride
for what I longed, betwix the empty spaces
the finish line now the gunshot
and what of the exchange rate?
how many angers is love worth?
when a passion-plays transfered to selfindulgence
there is some overlap, and a chopping block is needed
and the sharpness may pierce the skin and stain, your ingrain
when did that ever bother me anyway?
love for art or love of art?
it is a ****** that works the teller booth, with smooth words and clean rationalizations
minty
gross
a little too much of a bad thing that tastes good
can't get the taste outa my mouth...i think i cut my tongue
and now other flavors are flavorless, bland, unessential
if it comes from within and the insides are but a void
then what can come out?
and the perpetual turned shoulder fears a quick glance, but desires that knowing stare and smile
badgers, fierce and fluffy.
moose, strong and moosey.
the common line was in that connection
everything else is superfluous
hindsight is, eh, 20/20
foresight..well ****.. i knew what it was
the dark hand extended with warm vibes and false face
you could find it in anyone's hand
is there a case being plead?  perhaps.. or it's just the void talking
it was a redness, angry, tender, vile, beautiful, servile, dominating. perfect.
maybe it's on the road..a squirrel being struck by ****** drivers
maybe it is the road, long and thoughtful
maybe it's a bad poem
this one?
yes.