deepundergroundpoetry.com
Thoughts are a bitch (She pissed and I called it poetry)
Stray thoughts wander
and lick the edges
of the greatest poetry
that will never be written
it might piss on picket fences
to mark the place
where it's howls go to die
the place to turn to
in the morning mist
of last nights noodles
stay
in the bathroom where she tinkled
with slightly dented eyes
pointed out the door
in hopes I'd follow
there they go again
panting a breathy death
chasing butterflies again
and lick the edges
of the greatest poetry
that will never be written
it might piss on picket fences
to mark the place
where it's howls go to die
the place to turn to
in the morning mist
of last nights noodles
stay
in the bathroom where she tinkled
with slightly dented eyes
pointed out the door
in hopes I'd follow
there they go again
panting a breathy death
chasing butterflies again
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