Datarelease Terrorcrat
2011-08-09 11:13:13 UTC
as for me and any house,
an agreement can be made,
to self-afflict and dissipate
and foam up towards the rafters,
a spoiled mess of intangible pointlessness,
loafing on his borrowed bed,
sleeping past the postman's call,
trodding, half drunk, out to her deliveries,
greeting, with shame, the patrons,
hoping to ignore the looks on those faces,
(as they surely be laughing)
hoping to forget the plastic dome,
the badge,
the uniform,
the purpose of her visit,
the money,
the food,
the agony of self-interest
and the pitiful, cowardly groveling it requires.
i could return to columbia;
find my husband,
shake him from his mother's house,
refurbish our belongings together,
and hopefully stir up some good.
but that smoldering apathy,
it knows better,
(or maybe just drives better)
it talks a good game;
he and i convene at my bedside,
with plans to fly to Sweden,
and leave the poor bastard dangling in Carolina.
we joke of a thick
dialect,
a surge in
posture,
a slight upon,
our backsides,
now turned up and receptive,
to the peaceful men in Malmo,
and we forget why we've been laughing.
an agreement can be made,
to self-afflict and dissipate
and foam up towards the rafters,
a spoiled mess of intangible pointlessness,
loafing on his borrowed bed,
sleeping past the postman's call,
trodding, half drunk, out to her deliveries,
greeting, with shame, the patrons,
hoping to ignore the looks on those faces,
(as they surely be laughing)
hoping to forget the plastic dome,
the badge,
the uniform,
the purpose of her visit,
the money,
the food,
the agony of self-interest
and the pitiful, cowardly groveling it requires.
i could return to columbia;
find my husband,
shake him from his mother's house,
refurbish our belongings together,
and hopefully stir up some good.
but that smoldering apathy,
it knows better,
(or maybe just drives better)
it talks a good game;
he and i convene at my bedside,
with plans to fly to Sweden,
and leave the poor bastard dangling in Carolina.
we joke of a thick
dialect,
a surge in
posture,
a slight upon,
our backsides,
now turned up and receptive,
to the peaceful men in Malmo,
and we forget why we've been laughing.
--
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