When the locals loose it
Senior homes keep
Cheap board games for the
Pedophiles of the lazy,
Hippie killing, teeth-gnashing
pipe wielding lumberjacks
They Eat sandpaper, turning into
old men with arthritis
Who creek the fucking floor to
head for the commune kitchen,
at all hours.
-Catch a glass of water by midnight,
Then crawl back to their rooms
to make a shit ruckus of noise all night,
All by themselves,
As they Jump around in their rooms
Jammin’ air guitar
Some meal in
If it was a night out, or a meal in,
you cant recall
Some chick,
Some group session thing.
to Kill all your friends for drugs
I want to save them
(The drugs)
Remembering our time
As dignified war buddies
Years later-
In some asswipe apartment
In some sloshed, diluted state.
Sit cross-legged by the phone,
Breathing more smoke than air,
And You’ll dawn,
Think to yourself:
‘Just how the fuck does smoke taste like
Chicken you ate 15 years ago?’
Wasn’t a matter
-Went out to by some staples after school.
The seven-green, for $2.99.
It was on the other side of town,
but I had to get out the house you know-
-My girl,
She’s pretending she’s mad again-
I got accepted to Yale, and
she turned
Shit-green in the face
(No surprise to me)
But man, -she was bitchy all day
-My balls were itching to breathe
And later on, Funny thing- as I was leaving,
There was this homeless chick
by the door
tokeing cigarettes.
Grunting,
“Got some change man?-”
like they always do
And like, when she stood up,
she was only 4 inches taller than me
-As if it mattered shit-less
Cause she was weak as nothing
Like, -It wasn’t a matter when I
Fuckin slammed her
behind a garbage bin,
and
took whatever
change she had
Still in the midst
he tried every second day to
brutally rape the New Yorker, and
those who submitted to it,.
Those who were rejected from it,
Their chubby fingers from hell-
He named his cat after his ex-wife-
beating it every day.
-Threatens it every other
Listening to Sinatra.
They wanted matching pairs
these dumb motherfuckers
who treat tattoos and
piercing’s as some kind of
‘spiritual experience’
-Just Wait till I finish filling in this
Michael Bolton eyebrow…
Cum Trap
Glue teeth of white
stick close
Tight grin shine
Upwards of a quiet,
sealed paste.
Nuns never trained.
The Policeman’s Sad
I asked the asshole the time,
but he just said his watch
was a cleaver
tattoo
Holy Disco
The facial imprint of a
bowling shoe, like a
smooth yoga kick
waiting for
soccer moms
I planned it all this way
I bought her a Daygo scarf
plus a Smurf hat
Pushed her back to the classroom
Optimistically
Loose jeans from the loose jean pool.
Loose-girl losers
“Me, I’m into anime art school interns,
myself”
-But who could be bothered?
Those Goth twigs-
-“Nothing but generic
Jack-off” I said.
“but Smurfs are so damn cute……you think should I even bother?”
-“Of course man!”, they all had shout. “Why not?”
-"You bet."
Chris is a well versed scholar and artist……oh wait….no he’s not. He’s is a 20 year old Satanist from Halifax Nova
Scotia. He cruises around jobless, dreaming someday to blackmail a politician. His stuff can be found at The Cerebral
Catalyst, Zygote in my Coffee, SaucyVox, and Underground Voices. He also likes to eat. It is rumored that he’ll eat like
a motherfucker, and never gain a pound. Therefore Lit K-os believes he's looking into the self-help market as to how
to be the next guru.
