Testaments wrote in language
To put hair on your chest,
"But accidents can happen"
Never sniff the jar full of mystery
Or you'll nose about it for weeks,
Upon it, styles just to hide the sight
Its growing from your nose in fact,
Do you like my
And then the secrets are out,
Mischief with papers of old
Noses shouldn't go
"Where noses shouldn't go"
Are for professionals, not those
Who should put things
Where they should nose they shouldn't go..
The prussian stache, on the wafty pine,
sticky black snuff, on your stache has dried,
I excuse your tobacco dipping while I climb,
just to sway with the wind,
in your many tiered mustache ride.
As I reach the zenith of my ascent,
a small french stache of upward bent,
offered no more for me to climb,
so downward tickle, of the mustache pine.
Enforced through early cognizance
Until we come to recompense
Serrated lines of quote "logic"
Complicit as an etiquette
Preemptive nondivergence threads
United though we bow our heads
Suspension stasis animus
Alarming lack of sapience
Vendetted waking populace
Intrinsics lost to "evidence"
Orphans to our mother Earth
Regressive inbred immigrants
Staggering seductions ways
Lethargic lecherous hedonist craze
Ambrosia brown to black tar goes
Vivacious love to skanky hoe
Entropy or as that goes
Remorse I say might have some pros
Solemnly a lie you know
Empathy not lost on me
Retracting threats though not my thing
Epiphany perchance to sing
Nocturnal beasts of legend spring
Damnation comes to every fiend
Innocuous solutions seen
Perception slanted serpentine
Impressions sit supplanters quit
The jury rarely gives a shit
Yet here Im relating it
I've slowly fallen, like Satan, from the graces
swapped paces and places, to capture different faces
but the wanderlust on my breath is strong, taste this
It's hard to bond when half the time I'm gone
black hair, curves, four leafed clover thong,
afternoons snoozing and browsing Netflix
flashes of my life till I'm on to the next bit
I can't get no respite, I just might break my next flight
for this chick, hopeless romantic, can't stand it
but lately I've been ghost on this whole scene
mind stolen like my future is a bandit
who's mind set is all about the greed
a fiend for the green presidents that sink further into my dreams
calling my name, telling me it's worth the pain to gain
have pockets on swoll with no shame to get a foothold in the game
thousands would be pocket change but the man in the mirror
doesn't look so set, half stoned, dressed for bed
wishing he could disappear for a bit, maybe never come back
the king of disappearing, yeah he likes the sound of that.
Just the other day
I met Robert Goulet
I was surprised a bit
The way his mustache twitched
A mind of its own
Like in the Twilight Zone
Jumping right off his face
His mustache ran away
Teeny boppers next door
Giggled out of control
As Roberts mustached jumped
Landing in someones lunch
That's when the Maítre ď
Let out a girly scream
Quite an embarrassment
To all us burly men
Then throughout the day
The mustache of Robert Goulett
Made a name for itself
As it ventured about town
His mustache all could see
Has a tinder streak
Helping old ladies out
To get across the street
Why it even saved a cat
Giving all its nine lives back
Pulled it from a tree
That was burning excessively
At that same moment saved the town
Itself from burning down
But that story's much to long
To try to abound
The town was so impressed
They trimmed up the mustache
Of Robert Goulett
Then gave it a ticker tape parade
After that they named a street
Because of its heroic feat
If it had two hands to greet
Would have handed it the city's key
And if the mustache could talk at all
Would have given the greatest speech
If Roberts mustache had only known
It'd do this good out on its own
It would have left the upper lip
Along time ago
As you fake mustache
Fell of your face
And onto the floor
My sides contorted
As the laugh shook my body
My cheeks crinkled
My feet stamped
And shook the ground
My hand flew
Over my mouth
As a snorted
Through the tears
I gasped for air
Beneath the giggles
And cried for mercy
Among the merriment
My jaw hit the floor
In silly wonder
When your fake mustache,
Fell off your face.
There's traces of you all around this room.
Like long-forgotten relics
of a reality I had forgotten existed.
So much has changed,
but I don't know if you can say the same.
How can I?
I'm still lost, flustered,
out of breath, and tired,
but somehow, I feel on the right track.
I'm pretty sure you felt the opposite.
I stopped drinking, but nights like these
make me want to pick it back up.
Where'd I put it down?
I guess this is a sorry.
This is a "I'll see you soon" apology.
This is a "I don't regret much" statement,
but I'm sorry all the same.
On most cold and sunny days we bask in the sunlight on our living room floors,
Observing the flecks of dust floating in space, detecting air we cannot feel,
but once in awhile the urge to run becomes overwhelming...
"At least it's sunny" we say as the zipper pulls up around the neck, two long sleeve layers under the jacket, and a hat makes us just about set.
Now if you're like me you wear two layers one thin and one thick for below the waist, not this guy, he went with the tried and true one layer winter tights complete with the red stripe to match his jacket...
As for the the shoes I can not say, for I was in a vehicle and we were going opposite ways, but they must have been warm because the only part of him that was frozen was his mustache.
I slapped your
back so hard your heart fell out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~samples of my other works.
swirled and danced on an
ocean of foam.
He said his
waxed mustache was his upside
Bogs of my apathy
camouflages my sarcasm
lost on you.
Do not try reverse psychology on our love just hug.
Tears falling on a mirror.
Cleansing tomboy times of terror.
It fears what it doesn't know
like a clouded crystal ball
It gives you a dead rat
to suffice for food for your soul
So staunchy and immensely regal...
(It coined the term)
Not as lax as I am...
It fears failure of it's legacy
Gun and blade drawn
It wants a world of inheritance
from the king to the son
It's insane...more ruthless
It fears the doughy voice-less
infinity so tries to keep itself
It's not allowed to
disappear into the void
It values productivity
and thinks your body is
metallic trinkets molded
together...It doesn't acknowledge