| Tuesday the 12th every day, poetic me every second, mi vida es loca baby and when i stop and think, the words flutter within me they make themselves known like the life of Al Capone and the transluscence of my hum, the silent buzz of a desolate one spiders crawling from under the rock of lies, a thing called truth never dies poetic me, hum still we cry for moses and um, deliverance in all its forms patience is outworn and we don't joke that way all that i can say is too much for you to know about the seeds that grow about tommorow if it comes these whispers in the wind are like us born in sin like God who art in heaven and ever-open 7-11's i wont stop view page fifty-nine and maybe you'll understand why and i can get some rest like there's no tommorow next and day we no cry but see tears in them pretty eyes see our beauty we keep locked inside, this splendor is like no other NEXT POEM MY POETRY HOME |