is stopping us from
lighting the iron bowl, tipping
the burning cuts of guts of
musts
of musty drug cuts
down my waist, down my thighs
i try to lie, but I can't
hold it in.
Which band, which hand,
the oldness of the countless denials,
of each other and of
COUNTRY MUSIC,
the putrid stench of each other
and our violence and
hatred and judgeMENTS
well I say we let all the judged be
judged, and the wretched BE SAVED
and everything thinks this is so great
but it's NOT.
I'm not great, I wish i WAS great
or a genius or something
my crazy traits only bleed every so-often
Amis my imbred outlet mall,
falls in a world where no one
buys ANYTHING and
i'm just glad I have some way of escaping this
madness,
this blabber,
this stupid sonnet and
this really big duck.
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