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Fried from the lapse of time.
by Johnny CrimsonBut I would speak to Reagan Rolantini
about that I'm sure there is something
that he can work out for you that I just
cannot handle at this moment, with everything
going on I'm far below my previous financial
status...
"I don't remember asking you a question."
I've forgotten how to write poetry.
Scraping the fuck from
my shoe, the sticky consistency
and the warm smell of heated glue
reminded me of my friend Brandon Mangum
and how we'd get on his bedroom floor
and shove our noses in the heating vent
and sniff the fumes that would rise
from the grate.
I told him I created a robot clone of
this blonde he wanted, and that I had
the remote to her in my bookbag and promised
him she'd be at his house waiting.
My friend Sam would touch B Walkers ass
in the lunch line and blame it on me.
I only wished I was touching her but
I'm just not that crude.
04/29/2009 Posted on 04/29/2009
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/29/09 at 12:07 PM No, of course not. Heh. This one seems a little heavier on storytelling than usual, though I could be off the mark on that one. Either way, I liked this. |
| Posted by Nanette Bellman on 04/29/09 at 05:48 PM i've forgotten too. and maybe that's best for me. |
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