2014 #99

They can mauve-wash
all the station bricks
every single summer

equating to a decade
and a fever will less
likely erupt

that will wish
to encounter
a random mayor
into whose ears

anger shall unleash
a festival of fucks
who’d only reply something like,

“Who the fuck are you?
Are you a public
morale member?”

“In a loose sense”
the script might want to run

in a vein decked in hazardous
dress of a guess venture

morale is a moniker
in a central world enthroned
and there is a charm
connected to a few chipped paint

counties if a brick is a country
or the wall would be the country, if not
a massive fucking continent

busybodies took over
and promoted uniformity
all the way down
to chilidog slaw


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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