On the bus 2’o clock
Bells whistling roaring
“Get your sorry *** aboard!â€Â
Swaying drunkenly on the streets
Of heat drenched Manhattan
Blissfully blown out of my mind
In the San Franciscan Bay
Off the plane, 9’ AM
Morning hours are best kept hidden
Because society is a machine
As my suitcase with no handle
Scrapes against my knees, scabs.
Wearing a coat jacket 5 sizes to large
But what else can you do
In the hours on noon?
Presidents come and go
But their corrupt legacies have
Their lengthened impact on an already
Troublesome society.
And here stand I chanting my commands to the masses
Drinking vodka straight from my coffee mug
And smoking my enjoyable minty rolled fresh cigarettes
Eating lemon meringue pie. Life’s simple o****m. Ah.
12 o’ clock and the hour is noon
I am speaking to my drawings of sketches
Of women I once knew.
They used to adorn me.
In the hidden hours of night and early morning dawn
Heaping of good stuff for my morning feast
Gorging on fried potatoes grits sausage and red wine.
Life can be tasteless, all you need is a good ****
All from Life’s simple pleasures.
Tags: