Anything, Anything, Anything

It’s almost 11:30
Tuesday night,
I’m stuffed with pork,
mashed potatoes,

I’d love to grab a beer from the fridge, but,
there’s no beer in the fridge.

I’d like to grab anything,
but my wrists are weak,
from scribbling confessions,
in hope,
in desperation,
to the “Warden”,
but he isn’t handing out passes,
or pardons.

I wish they’d just get it over with,
level the fucking place.
Burn the books that nobody will read.

Get some MAD Magazines on the table,
some R.Crumb,
some tits and ass,
Anything for christ’s sake!



Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry

2 responses to “Anything, Anything, Anything

  1. Amazing, again.

    I never get time to regularly check my Reader, but in a way, I kind of prefer being able to sit down with a coffee and catch up on all your words in one big, greedy binge.

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