Monday, 12 December 2011

Poetry cafe

by a flash of inspiration I wrote this one when i got plastered at a work function
no changes or editing was done and must be seen as a little Andre Breton creation

Automatic writing
Second title :
Nostalgia of a tight skinny pants that had a ripped torso spelling bohemia

I just drove past one of my booze spots I frequented as a kid.
I remember purchasing two long toms* of beer and a nuclear depth charge shooter.
Drinking the shooter I got pissed fast and to fool the bar owner I paraded the long toms,

*Belly note
A long tom is a 750 ml bottle of beer. The drink for a student, vagrant or just somebody that does not have money for proper spirits.the price decreases in the volume and the folks waste themselves on morbid happy hours.

I chased down disco lights on the dance floors.
oh ! i lived eloquent with cougars on the rebound and rash with pervert bogy men.
Sing along and role playing Madonna on the tune of Gloria Gaynor.
Life confessions for free drink concessions
drunk despairs in Jackson Pollock toilets
the stroll home and finding an urge to convert...nah I was a wild unruly child...

in the shadow of an outlaw poet and i did not even know it

My man ninja said'hey brother from another mother you pop the words, bust the rhyme like some Tudor Clementine'

Oh those were the days when nothing mattered to much and nobody claimed my freedom

I was pretty, misunderstood and I read poetry.

Jack Kerouac meant more than Jesus and dharma bums read better than the gospel...i am not proud

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