is advanced
Mrs. scarlet eyes, smile-
dentures guncotton
hair steamed dumplings
cotonati
dress with great shoulders,
paiette as the comet,
Jesus would find in a mall.
She is the mother of all the poets of his youth
withered,
hoary white hair, mothballs
brain,
acrid smell of sterility,
too old to show her butt.
I sat behind the closet, but
without clothes,
the nice tie, nice shirt, hair
exhausted from the night before,
eyes rusty from the bottle before,
too young to sit,
One interested spectator
ask me - Excuse me, where's the toilet? -
confused chuckle and say, Benzedrine
nougat!
He looked at me stunned, I would paint
his intestines itch
of disorder and chaos, but then just
:
- On the right, straight-
The poets of cardboard
stewart gets angry with those who do not want to go to the bathroom.
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