February 15 by The Running Son
my felt idealism’s a bitch just after sunset.
sorry cat. cant attend your golden brothel renaissance.
sorry bra. not a sufi surfer seeking menza sluts.
im not concocting. not a cockeyed under-sod plot buddy, stalking.
so no rookie option pops. you cant adopt or roleplay me.
you do not stop.
so dont stop cuz cracks need victocratic spackle yup.
dont stop got rustic red iron infrastructures busting the fuckup.
sorry menelect. twin towers, your vision is fallen.
sorry menelect. kiss your 32nd’s headstone bottom.
naw im not the one to topple institutions. but, but.
you think therefore there’s two of you. you institute.
you play-on jaded, so sunup’s just a felt bitch too.
by Jim Aldrich
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.