Don't

Don't, it's don't, don't like the plague,
Don't like the aligators,
Don't like the plain planes
of don'ts,
of official can'ts,
can't help it, shelve it,
official that's its, listen to this.

Yeah, yeah, dump the raggedy
ever so scraggely look and feel.
Too real, not enough teal.
Spotless, baby, that's
how I like it now,
Breakfast on a mirror,
like an only child reading
backwards,
like a fine wine powering
a slick, firey chassis
across your chocolate self.

Me, "oc", a wound-up waving hose
spraying lifetimes of light
across a cauliflower yard--
big white buds and birds,
yes, everything's birds
in the is land.


 

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POETRYP||| MUSIC ||| INTERVIEWS ||| REVIEWS

1961 CHRYSLER ||| UPCOMING EVENTS ||| ART ||| WRITINGS

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