Anyway the warm fleshes are all sleeping on the other side of this road,
you may need that to come off as an struggling artist…
Just don’t make them too aware of your breezy valves,
they like people who can be clown for their pulsating intellectualism.
I work for them, but I have a runway hitchhiker in me,
I keep him for nights of free weeds and coastal rums.

Goodbye darling. I am going to put knife on that eternity of the proud brothel,
don’t drink too much without me. I know you were always meant to be sparklingly single and distantly poetic,
but this aching anatomy only gets better with the smell of your drunk skin.
Their circus will be closed early today, I think we can watch that noir classic later,
I think with you by my side I can watch other clowns who are crawling towards their end from their lost art like me…

This bus ride to the city is malicious for my humble celebrations…
All are suffering from viral morality and music without subtlety.
I am in front of that road again…I work for the opposite side.
The return of the pseudo orator…the rise of prodigal rapists.

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Photograph: Google Images.