Sometimes I get sidetracked to a point where a poem could only be anticlimactic:
i’m glad you’re home the art came
the fuck is that
you have to admit the color is perfect
true, and your mother is coming tomorrow
yeah it was this or manfred’s sphincter
Sometimes I get sidetracked to a point where a poem could only be anticlimactic:
i’m glad you’re home the art came
the fuck is that
you have to admit the color is perfect
true, and your mother is coming tomorrow
yeah it was this or manfred’s sphincter
I am officially no longer a cancer patient
I am officially no longer a cancer patient