Black And White Oregonleatherboy Smoking A Spliff Wearing Black Leather Hat With Coat Bearded
Poetry
the rigors around rampant with sweat and regret and symptoms of our ancestors that were solemnly stated in abated less that would suddenly turn in his future generations form in thoughtless remains as the train goes by, and doesn't leave anything for us to remember.
It wasn't December, it was November when it came with the whistles blazing, and the red lights scattered all over the tracks, like the blood, like the blind, which would soon mix in with the mode, and men row and Monroe rolling its way down the streets, as the rain gathered in puddles and petals, like metals that held the virus and the virus and the bars and the $2 shots that lead to your demise. |
They close your eyes and break your kneecaps, the rattles that have yet to unveil themselves and the truth that's yet to appear. Where were you that night?
Where did your dog end up? After you turned yourself over to heaven? And that the rent let's proceed to jobs that would never come. Where did you go? After that it all became clear that you would no longer be here that the train would run you down.
there was the sound of the scream. Was it screened by the blaring of the horn which had probably already worn its way down the first tract That would take your life and never free that back as if rebels on urban art as fast as the Dart of a train through the city For I'm sure it was not the only life that was taken along the way as the chain travels from today, through yesterday without a person, ring leader to guide the way Pretty sure when you meet forever, there's no turning back. At that point the cards are all stacked and anything like that you act. You better mosey on down to the corner store and grab. For when death has its final stab
