Posted in Poetry


She’s just a cheap
prototype of
a girlfriend

ain’t no one finds that sexy

Something about her smells
like a fart locked in a jar

If you were to let that
thing out
it’d basically take out
all of downtown

Of course I’m angry

There’s no warranty when
you get mixed up in
this sort of business

it’s not like I can
call the feds on her

they don’t give a crap about
that kinda stuff

They’re too busy

writing sonnets about
cocaine dependency and
metaphorical disembodiment.



Trying to find the right words.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s