with exclamation marks.
a tawny port over vanilla ice cream.
she doesn't deserve these poems.
just memories of an old lime.
a dream of paper flowers screaming.
I like liquor and whores.
digging up the math.
nitrogen gives us photographs.
really fucking loud.
with periods and pimples.
loose like your life depends on it.
My back hurts.
My feet hurt.
My heart huts.
My Mississippi feels good.
My San Fran is satisfying.
I just witnessed a Heineken death.
multiplied by Coors Light and whiskey.
and I think I love you.
let's try to cut to the solution.
I saw this coming.