Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Reed Garden Screening

Antipoems XXVII ½


We
sober drunk crazy power.
We are crazy drunk
they say to do
is a matter of hanging. We are two smoked
to the eyebrows.

Dance,
just one more tango.
Dance,
tell me if it's true.

And my friends say
if I have finally lost the trail
your lips
to kiss my failures.
Let me go head and write false
poems, poems
shit ... Poems
no sense.

Dance,
only blues more.
Dance,
tell me a lie.

0 comments:

Post a Comment