The Poet is a One Man Band

one man band

 

Burnt and blue

Drop and roll

Red shoes

behind a burgundy baby buggy

 

Yesterday’s hymn is tomorrow’s

forgotten song

The melancholic music

of failure

 

That thirteen on her neck

She can only get off

when she’s high

on her back

 

She stole away

with my silver

She stole away

with my nightingales

 

She took

my tired

She took

my bored

 

Alligator jacket and a pistol

in her jeans

Playing hard

at aderral park

 

My bed not

yet cold

I resolve to never

wind myself again

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