turn 7:20 turns into...

7:20 turns into 7:21,my friend,
in the blink of a dink,
a garage door sinks
as the staff pours out
into the drink on cue and
in flight from the bastard garbage
man down the street, terrorizing dreams.

So it's from up on the spoof to
out walkin' to clear the mud from
the head.

It's never deady if you're ready
but who is at this time of the norming,
everybody's mourning the morning,
ready to hit the crack,
the speck, the feckless spectacle
of initial rays seeking hapless
sacks of humanitarian seekers
squeaking the beakers,
craćnking up the minutes to the
noon swoon--dunce time.

Then, it's fivedom again,
and all the little red barlights go on
like sirens beckoning to beer
and food cheer. On and on
to the disco for an olive with a twist,
yeah, memories are made of this,
when the coworker went goofy
over the Bensonhurst guy with the ass
in the purple light acting like everyone
wants to fight when its really only the mirror,
and a second chance but that's not
at the next light, only family is,
after getting over the slump
called the week.

Soooo, it's the sidewalks squalking
to the subway and its black signs,
somehow, someway, someday,
we all end up stoned at home.
The grey swamps the chimps
and the red sky holds off
pending my verdict of who's to care.
I say, they all stay,
they all will be he here for a while,
the grifters, the benders, the family
members, the homers, the homeboys,
the homeless, the boneless, the
constant, multiplying philanderers
of life.


 

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