poem after poem
Reader,
Tonight I am drinking the last beer in the fridge
this means I am up to writing...
I got good tunes and food runes
for the grind of my mind
you will have poem after poem in this entry...
a caulk wrath play of rights considering a terrible sight
shuts the cow fans tend to bold for colds
strapons and the self crapments rim mental lenders
hater's and fater's see you later's false pulse froth
I brace my embrace with a toad face watching tame lions
envisioning the pear tear gleaming astral streaming
a bowl of dicks with chilled balls almost three fold
bare peer soup who blare sorrowful glare
lies redirecting constant tights, bind beyond
the right window of the tea
King H. Ironson
Hen shear the brooms
Flat for truce fool to madness
Bend the truth
show we are on troll meddle
prove it to echos and glue it to brave path
King H. Ironson
Boot's tool meadow of falter under his mailing
Faves shorter and murkier fare cumming
Shy night seal, sand press, I am tearing
Who's pet's bare four fast trance
Afore the nights grace stars bailing
Trippy main grey day, blues tones
King H. Ironson
downcast, the brave frees my thirst build blunders,
rough economists, doping tapes and last four lame yards.
This mourn attain here, whose grave is churn
Laying isn't dying, shut the closing periods, lay the tables
read me fables as I lay on your small boobs with highlighted tities
King H. Ironson
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