45*21

I write this fuckin poem
a big black angel will lift me up
that one in the cemetery
I dream of in this solitary state
I need wings to fly out of this pasty
potty hole.
See how stupid I get when I'm beyond
the couch and onto the floor
where a little spittle might cause me to drown
In this rancid hole
a man can only drink his whiskey
and kick his boots up into the sky
How does one kid lose so much energy
thinking?
My heart goes out to the one who continually loses
Thought machine is ripe with the knottyist apples
Only a true proletariat can get off my shit list
For unbeknown to most the sand is getting quicker
The fox is less sly
The mole gets hit upon the head
and rubber stamped and sent to bed