May 12 by The Running Son
a pop-off sunday poem
Every day of the week,
i pop off.
I mouth off
often popping your balloons mother-fu-
n colors like that. and i kick you in the
natomical blackhead-gripping tweezer-member shop
-ering to yourself in the mirror… like Oh s-
plit me you pop-ship-dropper-boxing off on
sun-day… mIne! mine-mine-mine !
losses, you bit-
helper thankyou kindly with foot-ball tosses. now im sausy
-ingg sleep yawn-der no help-longer. & broke.
what the hellp.
thank god it’s monday.
by Jim Aldrich.