redo repentance

for no particularly conscious reason

Timmy the Scribbler

then came along while whiling innocently
as an innocent by a softly flowing bank,
watching birds bathe downy secrets,
the concrete image in a witch caricature
bearing brutality in three-dee

photography and bent on spreading
all over all saucers born
golden, banana boatloads of butter
hired to pour pure sour all
over a harmless party
of gents gazing at what gents

naturally enjoy
gazing at,
like chicken
stuffed in soft
tacos leaking poultry
drippings, a simple cuisine whipped to
expressly whet the whistler’s
balsam reed,

agitate the appetite
and bring the moral smile for
a vessel otherwise
woe-saddled while on
weary sojourn
– you sanctimonious, hypocritical,
fuckheads and bitches – hey you never spoke
or fought for me, oh no one ever

did, and so I gaze oh gaze do
I so hard at every pretty
piece I can and I ain’t hurting no body – so
go fuck yourselves,

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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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