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i was born to nothing, theres rainbows for the everyday if you can fight through the tears. if yr mind can calm the hungerin stomach an soul break of empty wallets while big daddy bank manager drives his Mercedes convertible to fuck blondie that got yr sheets wet in HS. theres treasure for the plain if yr fight is long enough.
i seen the future with the devil predawn red from booze an insomnia… he pitched his fork to the side steady handed to snuffle the blow an recite poems backwards for the dyslexic. he told me heavens got its own share of cocksuckers cause there is only one town with a lot of ideas of how it out to be.
he said he grew tired of minivans got sick of soccer moms and desperate wives an everybody gunning for recognized cunning that he ended up in the desert. i shot fire arrows with the devil in that desert outside LA where the rich vacation. we sucked seeds from the freshest fruit sunbathed under eternal blue skies an at night it was clear tequila married mothers with hot cunts that drooled the panties underneath black work slacks. it was the devil with red skin an saltnpepper hair that taught me how to lengthen the fuse fr dynamite so’s to be safe away when it expands beneath an above the desert floor.
soon there was no space just heat an night an red eyes surrounded by explosions no steps taken away we were burning to dust burning through exhaustions last fuel soon we were skin an bones stretched like hides across the flat hardwood desert floors soon i was immortal an we toss the sticks lit back n forth like children playing catch.
it was the fight then, dig, yr pockets aint yr excitements an the greatest dream is to always be on the hunt in pursuit the unalterable landscape of art hope an beauty. we were the fuse that stick of what gonna be if only you are strong enough to light it.
it was predawn when his wife got home, it was predawn when she chased us with a knife hollering about sleeping grandchildren. it was off screaming through aggregate an sand predawn drunk launching beer cans through dead windows of vacation rentals as mozharts short stories were played out on public radio.
it was predawn when one by one lights reacted to shattered glass flickered on like christens reborn to the ways of heaven or stars just dead on telegraphing the way to some other heaven they dost create.
in the desert theres nothing to hit in black trans am or blue cougar so some things can rush straight forward for miles at a time.
i seen the future with the devil predawn red from booze an insomnia… he pitched his fork to the side steady handed to snuffle the blow an recite poems backwards for the dyslexic. he told me heavens got its own share of cocksuckers cause there is only one town with a lot of ideas of how it out to be.
he said he grew tired of minivans got sick of soccer moms and desperate wives an everybody gunning for recognized cunning that he ended up in the desert. i shot fire arrows with the devil in that desert outside LA where the rich vacation. we sucked seeds from the freshest fruit sunbathed under eternal blue skies an at night it was clear tequila married mothers with hot cunts that drooled the panties underneath black work slacks. it was the devil with red skin an saltnpepper hair that taught me how to lengthen the fuse fr dynamite so’s to be safe away when it expands beneath an above the desert floor.
soon there was no space just heat an night an red eyes surrounded by explosions no steps taken away we were burning to dust burning through exhaustions last fuel soon we were skin an bones stretched like hides across the flat hardwood desert floors soon i was immortal an we toss the sticks lit back n forth like children playing catch.
it was the fight then, dig, yr pockets aint yr excitements an the greatest dream is to always be on the hunt in pursuit the unalterable landscape of art hope an beauty. we were the fuse that stick of what gonna be if only you are strong enough to light it.
it was predawn when his wife got home, it was predawn when she chased us with a knife hollering about sleeping grandchildren. it was off screaming through aggregate an sand predawn drunk launching beer cans through dead windows of vacation rentals as mozharts short stories were played out on public radio.
it was predawn when one by one lights reacted to shattered glass flickered on like christens reborn to the ways of heaven or stars just dead on telegraphing the way to some other heaven they dost create.
in the desert theres nothing to hit in black trans am or blue cougar so some things can rush straight forward for miles at a time.
posted by The Swellington at 9:32 AM
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