Shoot.
Who'd have thought what I have not
because I'm caught in a knot in which
my
brain is simply simple. Stumbling silly
on sancious syllables like a swanky
boy who's pants shan't fit his knees
properly.
Properly?
Shoot, I knew it was you, you can't be
too cool
to lose a game in which you can't be a
loser.
Boozer, don't do drugs also dammit.
Cannit be cool to swig a juice box, I'd
rather
not drink that concoction I caution
myself over.
Grover, like Sesame Street.
Lets meet, after the after party,
festive but snug in
a nest I digress and confess that that
shirt was a mess
with my dress, can we try not to cry
over it next time?
Shine.
Like a spoon.
Or the moon.
Or a white kid's ass for all I care.
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