Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Melting The Letter S

I am not a priss.
I let the S's hiss like a
Commute that never ends.
I balance
Blades and
Three
Hole
Punch
The lights out of ideas.
Fondling for crew socks,
I instead
Find
Lost notions,
Swirling the contents
Of my stomach, which includes a
Breakfast sandwich and
Regrets.
I look to the elderly
For wisdom and encouragement but
They fancy
Worries about chin hair
I fancy the 2X4 lumber
That sports nails
Like a hairdo.
Snap the elastic back to reality.
I painted the
Bathroom tiles with
The victorious blood
That spills like acid from
Triple A
Batteries.
I am curious and watchful,
A second base umpire in life,
Dying for a chance and all I get is
A laid back hiss.
Let me remind you, I am not a priss.

12-18-10


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Melting The Letter S

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