Don't Let Me Down
So, when I moved out here it was the middle of May. Exactly 7 months ago today, to be exact. Because the school year is divided into terms out here...my summer lasted from May 12th until September 29th. Lets just say, that was one goddam long summer. And, guess what...I hate summer. Fall is my favorite season, and a large part of that is because summer is over. Needless to say, I spent a lot of this summer in the local pubs, wondering what the hell was going on. I wrote some things down as well. I think I will be posting what I wrote every once in a while. Here goes.
#1
Realization
I'm breaking it,
breaking the code,
writing in public,
prostrating myself.
Shouting loudly and convulsing in vulgar tongues
in a townie bar at the ass end of suburbia.
Neither of us are really better off,
all these diversions creep into the ink,
and me...
I'm obviously in the wrong
here.
#2
City of Dis
...or the gradual evolution of a half-assed rhyme into a poem
There ain't no way
your vanilla holds sway
you wouldn't last a day
on the other streets
where legit words leak out
so scared, your pink poopy panties
seeped out,
so lets take the stats:
you took a lame as car (pick up truck actually)
to a hick ass bar
so you could dance to
"Pour Some Sugar On Me."
Cmon. Really?
Your mind is my Jericho
with impenetrable walls....
oh that my raised voice
could crumble them.
#3
It always gets
to people,
these nice cold cloudy days,
days when your lady might see the
next person she'll fuck,
the nights when
the guy who sits in the corner
of the bar
by himself
somewhere in the U.S.A
is going to play his songs,
lean back, and sing them
desperately.
And I wander out
to see all of it
live.
#1
Realization
I'm breaking it,
breaking the code,
writing in public,
prostrating myself.
Shouting loudly and convulsing in vulgar tongues
in a townie bar at the ass end of suburbia.
Neither of us are really better off,
all these diversions creep into the ink,
and me...
I'm obviously in the wrong
here.
#2
City of Dis
...or the gradual evolution of a half-assed rhyme into a poem
There ain't no way
your vanilla holds sway
you wouldn't last a day
on the other streets
where legit words leak out
so scared, your pink poopy panties
seeped out,
so lets take the stats:
you took a lame as car (pick up truck actually)
to a hick ass bar
so you could dance to
"Pour Some Sugar On Me."
Cmon. Really?
Your mind is my Jericho
with impenetrable walls....
oh that my raised voice
could crumble them.
#3
It always gets
to people,
these nice cold cloudy days,
days when your lady might see the
next person she'll fuck,
the nights when
the guy who sits in the corner
of the bar
by himself
somewhere in the U.S.A
is going to play his songs,
lean back, and sing them
desperately.
And I wander out
to see all of it
live.