"pinstriped" poems
Meet me here
at a quarter passed four
in the morning.
I'll be the boy
in the duck sauce t-shirt
you can wear your favorite
Lollipop skirt.
I'll have my my secret
Neutron bomb.
Your hips will be destroyed.
I'll pull my bright red wagon
and a handful of other toys.
I'll dance the flute
and play a jig
You can drink as many
Long island ice teas as you want
I'll be your rodeo clown
Your laughing hyena
Your pinstriped suit
Your Knight that you dream of.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
Oh - my pinstriped suit of elegance
I struggle each day just to feel alright
Remembering how to put back the light in my eyes
Oh - the kiss
You stole my soul
A lamb to slaughter
I can't ever take one more step towards you
Cause all that's waiting are more regrets
You lost the love you had the most
Tearing love apart
Leaving scars
My heart pounding as I hear your hunters call
I follow the trail of crumbs
Full of
Lies and pain
Knowing, you have the power to hurt me
Over and over again
I am crying
I am screaming
I want to tell you mostly
Devastated that I'm so afraid of everything
Devastated by the chaos
The violation
Drunk in my devastation
I walk a lonely road
All knowing
But not really knowing
My mind attempts to heal
The scars push me down
I try to loosen the knot
It's to tight
In my lonely place
In my head
I build a haven, a place to live
A respite
From the ghost of deviance
From the hurt
From the fall so deep
From the pain so Raw
My life so lost
No matter how the day ends
I don't feel safe anymore
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 6:00 AM UTC
A fine mixture of smoke and breath escapes my lungs
as this letter flows from my pen this evening.
"This evening:" What does that even mean?
A moment in darkness, shadowed is the life-giver
high above us,
well,
me.
Strawberry tobacco smothers my face from hookah pipe,
eyes fixed on the lines before me,
and I have nothing to say.
We have nothing to speak, I assume.
I am wordless but maybe in the moment,
this evening, you have a tongue of prose
and no pen to mouth emotion back,
no way of knowing that your time is time is now,
and it's my turn to listen.
Wait, no no, not emotion.
Just "being,"
ways of being, strewn out like a fortune teller's
knucklebones. A lie, the truth, the way that
your eyes wander to the door as you lie
on the pinstriped couch across living room
from me.
I see you glancing, I feel your yearning
for skies where wings can spread against
a star-sun-lit moon and clouds of pink and red,
a longing to dive toward god-given green earth,
near to here, but so so far.
Needing clouds to dream-slumber in, as beads of water
mask your body in my mind, mixed with
thoughts of pure love and pining for your growth,
as dew drops form around my long blond-brown-blue eyelashes.
It's all I see, I've seen,
that's all I write to you this evening.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
Pinstriped suit
Black briefcase
clink of heels
On marble floors
imposing glass walls
Emails coming in
Emails coming in
Slacks and a tshirt
Powderblue backpack
Red hightops
on gravel
lockers on walls
Students coming in
Students coming in
Oak desk
Open door
Client comes in
Check the emails
"I want a divorce"
turn to the client
turn to the client
Blackboard
Open door
Students stream through
Smile in greeting
"Recess 'aint long enough"
Open up textbooks
Open up textbooks
Client cries
Keep professional poise
nod in understanding
Show no weakness
"He won't sign the papers"
Just nod
Just nod
Students protest
explain over the noise
try to make them love it
show no weakness
"who cares abour 1945?!"
I care
I care
Go home
Collapse onto the
Black leather sofa
in front of
the plasma screen TV
Instant noodles for dinner
Instant noodles for dinner
Go home
Collapse onto the
stained, worn-out fouton
the kids badger
for some television time
Put the roast in the oven
Put the roast in the oven
The neighbors open
their doors
turn to watch yours
remian tight shut
Noone to expect
Noone to come home to
Noone to come home to
The key turns
in the lock
turn to see
him walk in
bag of groceries in hand
Dinner's almost ready
Dinner's almost ready
TV programs over
Noodles devoured
papers signed
emails replied to
slip into bed
In bed alone
In bed alone
Children fed and bathed
television switched off
homework assistance provided
papers graded
husband made love to
Someone to hold on to
Someone to hold on to
Bathtub full of
Cranberry scented foam
Water's cold now
Body's cold now
Cold blade on Cold marble floor
So much blood
So much blood
Alarm goes off
Wake the children
Pack the lunches
Make the breakfast
Read the paper
Such a sad sad suicide
Such a sad sad suicide
Bathtub full of
Cranberry scented foam
Water's cold now
Body's cold now
Cold blade on cold marble floor
So much blood
So much blood
Hold him close
So much warmth
Hold the kids tight
Transfer body heat
Why did she die?
She had it all
She had it all
Nobody to inheret
The condo with a view
The money in the bank
The diamond earrings
the workload
Nobody to miss
Nobody to miss
Hold him close
So much warmth
Hold the kids tight
Tarnsfer body heat
Why did she die?
She had nothing
She had nothing
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
Beware the sour duchess with her cobra tongue,
Come marionette, fall at her feet, the carnal cherry flower maid,
She hides in the devil's gap tooth,
In his pinstriped pockets full of rosary beads and candlewick,
She steals the heart-shaped cosmic superstition,
Demure with dulcet debauchery,
Forged in a grand dalliance of coquettish repulsion with his valiant renegades,
Vagrant of prayer and petrichor,
Buying fancy for the maudlin dolls, the ethereal actresses nursed to betray,
These childish ordeals rosy with youth,
Turn to lilac smitten executioner under the glass of a silver boulevard,
She writes me foolish want in this presence of gods and criminals,
Sell me your kisses and fingertips bruise my aura with your architecture,
Sleeping sound in your dominion the sheets are always warm.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Soft, moonlit wings glide under the light of the moon,
while shadows dance on the snow below.
Flying into the unknown, breathing in whimsy,
she refuses to land or succumb to the fatigue.
But the frosty silence lulls her to sleep
with pinstriped stories delicately written onto her skin
until her mind succumbs to the stillness
and she no longer flees from the snows embrace...
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
Here you are, all dressed up
To take me out to dinner, our first date
In your Armani pinstriped business suit
Silk tie, starched white shirt, cufflinks
Polished black leather Italian shoes
Your BMW waits outside
I changed my mind
You will cook dinner for me right here
No, don't complain
Take off those expensive shoes and socks
I want you barefoot in my kitchen
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
**Here you are, all dressed up
To take me out to dinner, our very first date
Even more handsome than in your corporate office
So dapper, dignified, distinguished,
so impeccably dressed and groomed
In your Armani pinstriped business suit
Silk tie, starched white shirt, cufflinks
Polished black leather Italian shoes
Your BMW waits outside
Well, I have news for you....
I changed my mind
Yes - changed my mind
We will stay home tonight
You will cook dinner for me right here
You are stunned
"ME?
I have a reservation at the finest restaurant
I know everyone there
And I don't know how to cook!
I know you're joking..
You must be."
No. No joke.
Give me those keys to your BMW.
Yes – the car keys
Take off your Rolex wristwatch
No need to look at the time.
Time to get cooking.
No, don't complain
You’re not in your office now
And one more thing.....
Take off those expensive shoes and socks
I want to see the cuffs of your
hand tailored navy blue pinstripes
brushing your
naked toes....
You are irritated, annoyed, frustrated
As you obey, resisting all the way
You give up your keys with the BMW symbol,
Your heavy masculine watch,
gleaming polished shoes,
still warm from your feet
thin black dress socks
I know it is frightening for a man
like you to surrender his shoes
and by the way
I do LOVE the shoes...
They just don't belong on your
feet right now
You call the restaurant and cancel
Shoeless and carless
Suddenly a servant
I’ll read the recipe.
While you peel the potatoes.....
I want you barefoot in my kitchen**
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
You are beside me.
Silent and steady.
I am not alone.
I wish I can hold you, elusive.
With daylight, you are gone.
Moonlight on my bed.
Your body writhing.
Breathing, sparsely pinstriped with gasps and kisses.
Drawing curves already there, perpetual perfection.
Lustful passion, glazed with yearning, crowned with jealousy, jaded with affection.
A constellation of emotions, collapsing with just one whisper.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
Take off your polished handmade Italian shoes
Yes, take them off, right here in the street
Peel off those thin black dress socks
Walk into the cheap barber shop
And tell the barber to shave your head
That full head of thick corporate hair
Now walk barefoot and bald in your $3000 pinstriped business suit
and your silk tie and cufflinks and starched white shirt
Walk barefoot though the financial district
Everyone will stare
Your colleagues and friends and competitors will laugh
As dust collects on your smooth clean white soles
Destroy your privilege
Cut ties
Burn your bridges
Barefoot bald and humiliated
You can start again
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
Careless people
In pinstriped suits and
Cocktail dresses.
Around is passed the
Inward ******
Wishing to arise.
Girls--
Golden Girls,
Fancy shoes on,
The heartbroken dance to
Speedy music,
Growing faster every spin,
Wanting to be looked at
The way every girl does.
They wonder,
"Will I be loved when I'm old and
Not beautiful?"
Guys--
Tonic doesn't work,
The green light leaves.
They dance with the girls,
But can't keep a promise.
All the bright precious things
Fade. They will never come back.
Fancy shirts and parties
Will not heal the broken.
So we beat on.
These were careless people,
Destined to fail.
These were drunken on the
Idea of love,
Wishing for more than
They were willing to give.
These were beautiful little fools.
Eyes will watch and see.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
**Here you are, all dressed up
To take me out to dinner, our very first date
Even more handsome than in your corporate office
So dapper, dignified, distinguished,
so impeccably dressed and groomed
In your Armani pinstriped business suit
Silk tie, starched white shirt, cufflinks
Polished black leather Italian shoes
Your BMW waits outside
Well, I have news for you....
I changed my mind
Yes - changed my mind
We will stay home tonight
You will cook dinner for me right here
You are stunned
"ME?
I have a reservation at the finest restaurant
I know everyone there
And I don't know how to cook!
I know you're joking..
You must be."
No. No joke.
Give me those keys to your BMW.
Take off your Rolex wristwatch
No need to look at the time.
Time to get cooking.
No, don't complain
And one more thing.....
Take off those expensive shoes and socks
I want to see the cuffs of your
navy blue pinstripes
brushing the cuffs of your
naked toes....
Your smooth white soles
will feel the floor
While you peel the potatoes.....
I want you barefoot in my kitchen**
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
Mr. Wall Street,
Yes, YOU
You in the Perfect Suit
Here are your instructions:
Take off your polished handmade Italian shoes
Yes, take them off, right here in the street
Don't ague with me!
Peel off those long thin black dress socks
Feel the pavement under your
Smooth, clean white feet
Leave your former shoes to
Cry for their former owner
Some panhandler will grab them
and give them a very different life
Now walk into the cheap barber shop
And tell the barber to shave your head
Yes - all of your hair
That full head of thick corporate hair
Falling to the floor in a pile of silver silk
As the barber hides his laughter
Now walk barefoot and bald
in your $3000 pinstriped business suit
and your silk tie and cufflinks and starched white shirt
and cashmere overcoat
Walk barefoot though the financial district
Everyone will stare
Your colleagues and friends and competitors will laugh
As dust collects on your smooth, supple clean white soles
Destroy your privilege
Cut ties
Burn your bridges
But first cross over to the other side
Become an outsider
Barefoot bald and humiliated
You can start again
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
Messy, 'specially on Sundays.
Feet a'shamble from stumblin' drunkhappy.
"It's all good, baby," Blakey yells over the drums.
Bourbon flavored women hard to swallow
with their jagged softness. Smoking section (whites) stares
down dance floor (everyone else) with guilt induced jealousy.
Coltrane's back in Philly studyin.'
Pinstriped chuckle from the Rosenbergs;
kinetic energy giving birth to the cool.
The trumpeter's high turns his tool into a weapon.
The sound briefly stealing him from his demons.
"I'll find a guy when I finish my set."
Black and white televisions: blacks in white suites
Smiling china white for an all white audience.
The movers, to this point, have only been black.
Little hero Harry thinks
blacks and whites should die on the battlefield together.
Everyone's starting to get it.
"That guitar sweeter than my old lady."
Charlie and Miles holding each other's needles
while Thelonious and his hard candy go bad.
Leanin' on bricks in a back alley.
The circle passes the joint around like the good times.
"Just keep em rollin."
The skirts expand and deflate wildly to the rhythm.
Pure sweat melting into the floors like drops of water on roots.
A melody never heard before.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
The rythmatic sequences of sound
Slithered through my brain
Leaving ***** of yarn
Tangled all around me
Caught between deception
And a ressurection
Becoming one with the water droplets
Stuck to the window
Visions fluttered through my mind
Like tiny little butterflies
Tickling the inside of my eyes
The greatness soothed me
To a point of fear
A good fear
Like that of a fierce man
With a sweet soul
That of a burdened child
With a perfect life
My wallet was empty
But my heart was full
Of sounds
And shapes
Like the little block toys
From my childhood
Nothing could stop this
This sentimental feeling
Not even the burning pictures
Falling from my pinstriped wall
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
Hello, Mr Wall Street
Mr. Wall Street,
Yes, YOU
You in the Perfect Suit
Here are your instructions:
Take off your polished handmade Italian shoes
Yes, take them off, right here in the street
Don't ague with me!
Peel off those long thin black dress socks
Feel the pavement under your
Smooth, clean white feet
Leave your former shoes to
Cry for their former owner
Some panhandler will grab them
and give them a very different life
Now walk into the cheap barber shop
And tell the barber to shave your head
Yes - all of your hair
That full head of thick corporate hair
Falling to the floor in a pile of silver silk
As the barber hides his laughter
Now walk barefoot and bald
in your $3000 pinstriped business suit
and your silk tie and cufflinks and starched white shirt
and cashmere overcoat
Walk barefoot though the financial district
Everyone will stare
Your colleagues and friends and competitors will laugh
As dust collects on your smooth, supple clean white soles
Destroy your privilege
Cut ties
Burn your bridges
But first cross over to the other side
Become an outsider
Barefoot bald and humiliated
You can start again
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
Mr. Wall Street,
Yes, YOU
Take off your polished handmade Italian shoes
Yes, take them off, right here in the street
Peel off those long thin black dress socks
Feel the pavement under your
Smooth, clean white feet
Leave your former shoes to
Cry for their former owner
Some panhandler will grab them
Walk into the cheap barber shop
And tell the barber to shave your head
That full head of thick corporate hair
Falling to the floor in a pile of silver silk
As the barber hides his laughter
Now walk barefoot and bald
in your $3000 pinstriped business suit
and your silk tie and cufflinks and starched white shirt
and cashmere overcoat
Walk barefoot though the financial district
Everyone will stare
Your colleagues and friends and competitors will laugh
As dust collects on your smooth, supple clean white soles
Destroy your privilege
Cut ties
Burn your bridges
But first cross over to the other side
Become an outsider
Barefoot bald and humiliated
You can start again
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
I wrote about the pinstriped girls whose elbows make you feel alive.
but I have tree sap in my veins
filled to the brim with leaves,
eaves that drip holy water
charcoal in my hair and
bluets follow where I
step, I am komorebi
the sun will always
always, always
find
me.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
I laze the dawn with morning breath inhabiting my mouth
Shifting my body maybe once or twice on an unkempt mattress
I would've killed for a good king-size bed, a comforter draped over me
But even I was too lazy to get up and turn the nearby radio off
I've lost myself in the smoke I've shrouded my apartment in
Seeping elegantly from the cigarette locked between my fingers
I shake my head fervently as 'elegant' isn't the correct word for it
As I've once lived a life of luxury -- bordering around dark secrets
Dark secrets that tore up the tether binding our family together
I know what it's like to be stinking rich and reeking of it all over
But I needed to jump on my motorbike and drive far, far away
While the cold air whipped at me and stung the moisture in my eyes
I traded the pinstriped suits for cheap muscle tees and leather jackets
And my high-maintenance loafers for darker-colored boots
I needed to be as far, far away from my past as possible as it hurt
It hurt to finally know the truth -- those horrid secrets I'd discovered
I was no one and I was undeserving of a disgustingly beautiful life
I was no heir presumptive to a company raking in mountains of cash
I was no blood brother to three boys I unconditionally adored
And most of all, I was no real son to the man I excessively revered
I changed my hair and name along the way too, because I didn't belong
I was reduced to this angsty and hurt rebel far, far away from home
I got myself an apartment and drank and smoked and wasted away
No one's come to save me from my rampant inner demons anyway
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
I have long desired a night undisturbed
full of sleep and coherent dreams
but that the sun arrives faster than light's speed
leaves me wondering
if there is ever an end to the war
I battle throughout weeks, months,
and years and years on end
After all I am easy to bend
like a daisy at the hand of storm
sways, unyielding, entrusting the wild current
of passion that breaks her back
I strike a match to see with blind eyes
how far this night, intemperate, will extend
And who shall have removed my footprints
when dawn breaks to swallow
every secret I whispered to this dusty road
and crushed beneath my feet
They say day is a neat deceit
for those who believe black is evil
and I hardly think it untrue
with stars ****** off their shine
to magnify the glory of darkness
when my body hits the matress
I can feel it quite as it is, darkness
but in no shade of beauty or grace
as if I never had any stars to sacrifice
with love their inborn proclivity
there indeed is no sincerity
in the way I am deaf to the sound of dark
A Beethoven masterpiece, the starry night
Such starless of a night this life has become
Or is it that life is still there?
handsome and fair, with his head in clouds?
My pinstriped eyes fail to glimpse in a crowd
the warmth and glow of this flame
of dark, this grand grand enchantress
Behind prison bars the war goes on
with no light to clear the mess...
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 6:56 PM UTC
I have no energy left but for revolt — the revolt of the one
who abandons the climb, turns his back, and goes
back down the hill toward the water.
The pinstriped priests sharpen the horn between their legs,
The better to carve the granite commandments
that drag me to the precipice’s edge with a pill for my mouth,
a hand for my pocket, and a push for my back.
I have fed at the supersized trough, striven to become
a hallmark of standardized measurement.
But I do not want to be fed by those factory corpses
who sit like workers in cubicles, unmoving and covered
to their hips in excrement and despair.
I do not want to work in a box turning time into regret and obedience into tears.
I do not want to be informed by the chyron streams
that feed the wells of desolation and ignorance.
I do not want to be a cog of an economy that fills the fountains
of palaces with the blood of innocence; where investment is a tout sheet
that dissolves into electrons as the getaway limousine races toward the mansion.
The sheer and final exhaustion of the rebel is his last and only triumph:
he drops the knife of his cause, gently lowers the stiffening body
of his holy purpose into the receptive dust, clears aside
a few stony pieces of the rubble, and kneels in submission
to the earth and all its ownerless teeming beauty.
For then he knows: it is I, too, like these others, who have walked among the dead.
Then he leaves his climbing body there, and turns again, back toward the water.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 9:22 PM UTC
Mr Wall Street
Yes, YOU
You in the Perfect Suit
Here are your instructions:
Take off your polished handmade Italian shoes
Yes, take them off, right here in the street
Don't ague with me!
You submit and obey
Not knowing why
You are my slave
Peel off those long thin black dress socks
Feel the pavement under your
Smooth, clean white feet
Leave your former shoes to
Cry for their former owner
Some panhandler will grab them
and give them a very different life
Now walk into the cheap barber shop
And tell the barber to shave your head
Yes - all of your hair
That full head of thick corporate hair
Falling to the floor in a pile of silver silk
As the barber hides his laughter
Now walk barefoot and bald
in your $3000 pinstriped business suit
and your silk tie and cufflinks and starched white shirt
and cashmere overcoat
Walk barefoot though the financial district
Everyone will stare
Your colleagues and friends and competitors will laugh
As dust collects on your smooth, supple clean white soles
Destroy your privilege
Cut ties
Burn your bridges
But first cross over to the other side
Become an outsider
Barefoot bald and humiliated
You can start again
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Mr Wall Street
Yes, YOU
You in the Perfect Suit
Here are your instructions:
Take off your polished handmade Italian shoes
Yes, take them off, right here in the street
Don't ague with me!
You submit and obey
Not knowing why
You are my slave
Peel off those long thin black dress socks
Feel the pavement under your
Smooth, clean white feet
For the first time
Leave your former shoes to
Cry for their former owner
Some panhandler will grab them
and give them a very different life
Now walk into the cheap barber shop
And tell the barber to shave your head
Yes - all of your hair
That full head of thick corporate hair
Falling to the floor in a pile of silver silk
As the barber hides his laughter
Now walk barefoot and bald
in your $3000 pinstriped business suit
and your silk tie and cufflinks and starched white shirt
and cashmere overcoat
Walk barefoot though the financial district
Everyone will stare
Your colleagues and friends and competitors will laugh
As dust collects on your smooth, supple clean white soles
Destroy your privilege
Cut all ties
Burn your bridges
But first cross over to the other side
Become an outsider
Barefoot bald and humiliated
You can start again
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
The poor men will rise with the searchlight of God streaming out from their eyes and the sinner shall have this day.
On the *** of the city where the fat cats and pretty boys walk,,where the talk is of bonds and debentures,diamonds in dentures and pearl driven breath,
there,
where the air lingers sad and the crazy man had all the luck he would get,and
standing tight on the floor calling more,give me more as if enough was not a feast,was
Jimmy Malone at home in the square mile and though crooked his smile he was as straight as a die,
he'd say, 'good morning my dear' with a grin or a leer and you knew you'd be faked out or taken down in the trading,but he was honest enough among the shylocks and tough boys who used to be hawkers down in the markets until Thatcher (the plot hatcher) showed them the yellow brick clique down in Threadneedle street,but
now they're just wide boys with big gobs,the new gentlemen fat slobs,pinstriped fat **** wipes who ain't got no time for their roots,all bar Jimmy Malone,
who calls mum and dad twice weekly at home and sends a cheque through the post to the boys club in Sligo where the young lads still go to learn how to live.
This is give and take city where nothing's given freely not even pity,where you're charged for your time by the dollar or the dime and the rich will stitch you sideways which only proves that crime does pay.
It's the sinners who win in the end,
while we're chasing geese they're fleecing us blind,I don't mind that's just life,sometimes I wish I was living it and
not shoveling ****
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC