Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

beat my naive little head with visions of marinated sweethearts in bed you seek and you find find what is the time time to move on up and out scrape your soul off the wall give it to st vincent de paul
see someone in your town wearing it inside out in a couple of weeks now it really reeks brave the dips with the peaks
if only we were all U.S sponsored shieks....
... meanwhile on the other side of the street a mother with alcohol in her walk teachin her kids to drink not to talk teach em to sniff paint not to think but her dad had it rough. No bluff to be called all real progress is stalled and my tongue is a beat poet, beat, depressed and fucked up had too much of this and that other stuff but i keep on steppin despite the bad taste in my heart and i know how it tastes coz of blood drips in my throat. savoury