our poems
are written on the back of pay slips
we spend all morning
arguing about revolution
only to decide that it is time to eat lunch
i take a trip to chinatown
& feel my skin dissolving
in a neon language
when i get home
you ambush me at the kitchen table
with a mouldy toothbrush
& tell me stories
about eating acid
in art galleries
as if hunter s. thompson
knew
more
than i do now
at 2:04am
in a cold bed listening to the sound of apocalypse
in my stomach...
are written on the back of pay slips
we spend all morning
arguing about revolution
only to decide that it is time to eat lunch
i take a trip to chinatown
& feel my skin dissolving
in a neon language
when i get home
you ambush me at the kitchen table
with a mouldy toothbrush
& tell me stories
about eating acid
in art galleries
as if hunter s. thompson
knew
more
than i do now
at 2:04am
in a cold bed listening to the sound of apocalypse
in my stomach...
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home