deepundergroundpoetry.com
See Real.
Angel, heavens,
42, Male, Surrey,
Standard wings
Butter the pavement.
Flutter.
Just like me,
No fingerprints. My twin.
Sin. That's me,
Ruby within,
And I let rip to this bottle
Like a neck,
Full throttle.
Prowling, growling,
Unstuck and unsure,"Oh, what the heck",
Palm of my hand,
Plastic and serrated
Binoculars. Bag.
Running in tights,
Like the fag that I am.
Panting, bleating,
I'm feeling poor.
God's on the speakerphone,
"Repairs being saught,
Find it in isle four,"
Desperation, repairs
Automatic door on the fritz, once again,
Electronics in place
Of the gold here before.
You, me, one thousand.
And I wonder,
Will you sing so thick,
If I take this knife
And cut off your
Nose?
42, Male, Surrey,
Standard wings
Butter the pavement.
Flutter.
Just like me,
No fingerprints. My twin.
Sin. That's me,
Ruby within,
And I let rip to this bottle
Like a neck,
Full throttle.
Prowling, growling,
Unstuck and unsure,"Oh, what the heck",
Palm of my hand,
Plastic and serrated
Binoculars. Bag.
Running in tights,
Like the fag that I am.
Panting, bleating,
I'm feeling poor.
God's on the speakerphone,
"Repairs being saught,
Find it in isle four,"
Desperation, repairs
Automatic door on the fritz, once again,
Electronics in place
Of the gold here before.
You, me, one thousand.
And I wonder,
Will you sing so thick,
If I take this knife
And cut off your
Nose?
Published 3rd Mar 2010
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