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Chester Copperpot.

by Johnny Crimson

I sat on fascination street
with these pictures of you
and she told me to "cut the shit",
and "you ain't no Robert Smith."

I replied with "I will bite a tangerine
so close to your neck that your skin begins
to crawl in retreating directions, and licks
will be had at the mercy of your pit shaped
core while my eyes look up into your soul."

Satisfied she grabbed my hand and began to run,
we came to the edge of a cliff and fucked inside
a hollowed out bear carcass for weeks in the rain.


Author's Note: ‹(•¿•)›

Posted on 06/25/2009
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anne Boulender on 06/26/09 at 02:18 AM

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much better my life would be now if I hadn't listened to such horrible bands like the Cure in highschool and many years too many after highschool. I don't even know why they are still bothering to make albums.

Posted by Nanette Bellman on 07/01/09 at 10:48 PM

The title of this is amazing. This poem gives new meaning the "goonies"

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