in the endless black and white
there IS ANOTHER set of sentients
color me clear
as a mirage du mer
as the boy what forced his Irish accent
well into the tenth grade
any prosperity begets suffering
as there is no king among the working class
except one
MORNING, COME LOVER
COME LOWER THAN YOU'D NARY DARE
Outside a dream
black coffee with a side of morning sex and acid
what spoils we've disrobed and rerobed in shocktoxic shame what nothing the metropolitan with crinkled hands can do
but live because you are still alive as far as you care to tell
every
I said every
day, speak one more word than the jour before
plain
loud talking
and the pain what comes
to vain brains
has been known to cure aggressive infection
