. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Cloudless Dreams

These cloudless dreams
are what?
Fixin’ to pour hot thunder down o’er Ol’ Keller’s place
up in the hills,
Full a’mirrors n’shit, bout err’time you turn ‘round
somebuddy’s waitin’ with a hatchet,
Bettin’ all else they can fix it,
And false reflections strip away all that’s er’been good,
The ideal man is me,
Cream trimmins on her red drapes,
That bush burnin’ round her well talkin’ radio speak
and singin’ some pin drop lovely swells,
Skin folds and flesh,
Meat folds and turns that pretty lil’ head,
She dun meant to be mean,
Cougar’ll growl ya right up that there tree,
Crown’a butter in the muddy sky,
Tie a rope round her insides and lower er’on
down underneath the ground,
Where she’ll sweat,
Sleep as sound as any ol’ thang,
Let’s whisper instead of give up the ghost,
Daddy heavy hoofin’ in them six penny work boots
upstairs his bear’s claw sharp as sharp,
Gonna milk me tonight,
Feed my blood to the porkers downtown,
Watch ‘em, o’God, roll snake eyes and wear my
clothes home to Uncle Hung Me Nots,
Give me up to the Jews to cut,
No way that ol’ man gon work me like a bitch
this time ‘round no way,
Not ta’night,
No sir.



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