H. suffered from creative memory-making
Cold fronts of sexual amnesia, assuming S.
"Some kind of match-making Madame
Among celibate carnies," upon their last visit
All alone in bed when the evil clown Hz
penetrate walls. Psychotrailer metal,
trash talk replies. Drywall quake
my cat watches wide territorial interest.
Too tired to be more creatively caped
come sunset I'll not be appropriately whitened
patent. So lime green finger-witchy
gloves it is and before our bud (who can best
be described as Eeyore)-- says, "Your friend
isn't doing well" and after I've told 'Roo
he looks rockabilly kerchief up
my skellyton cup of his cheek.
Familiar with everyone's five o'clock troubles.
Not that. Young Dita needs a lift
home. As bad as shattering one's perfume
bottle collection each trip on the icy sidewalk.
Macabre & I will need some 'Grey Gardens goes IHOP'
for some hope tonight. We fluff
our respective nerves, adjust polyester. Banshee quotes
to one another over coffee.
the best costumes we just have to make these things up youknow xoxo to myselftheliar
here are the rest : http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day