any improper language poet
Thursday, November 25, 2010
When Is Is Necessary To Flea Bomb A Home?
I'm not an early voice.
I am a different voice.
My words do not shine,
blackened and dried in the sun.
My cries are more of the same, screaming
cutthroat light, thoughts of battle
direct kamikaze into the abyss.
born my muse of apathy,
drink for all and all,
and learned to make me crazy
when I do not like the question.
No poet ever to arrive,
spare me lazy and I lack guts,
literature is not my country,
only excuse my language.
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