Congestion Face part 2A Poem by Brucethe sequelbare save trousers slacks in some foriegn hotel cigarette smoke linger some more like the smell of sex the source is she that stands naked and oblivious to the casual onlookers voyeurs if you will blowing smoke rings asking for the key to the f*****g mini bar at noon "it's happy hour." crust in my eyes an empty heart and a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon
© 2008 Bruce |
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