Besotted with organic grape juice and your naked accent.
I’m left wanton and willing in a dumpster on the bad side of town.
Nothing strange about this set of circumstances other than Dr. Dolittle was more a medicine man than a doctor because he touched the souls of the animals and that’s why they responded to him.
I rarely know what I’m talking about as streams of consciousness fly out of my head and hit the screen like magic bullets.
I’m not ashamed to be a poet like most of these invasion of the body snatching fools that befall us like angry trees on a second rate nature hike.
I believe you respond to me because I’m not afraid to say what I feel, but I’m aware you like to take things slow and check each and every item off your list before finally taking a break and dissolving into a state of temporary otherness.
We’re all broke back mountains in need of a stranger we can both rely on and forget when shits too hard and made in the USA no longer means a damn thing.
If you ever turn your back on your core belief system that’s when I’ll be there setting off all kinds of alarms bringing you back home to Flora MacDonald and Robert Burns.
Of course there’s love in my heart, but there’s also a responsibility to help guard your heart because without The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost how can any of us hope to survive this perverse onslaught of bad apocalyptic science fiction we’re currently finding ourselves smackdab in the middle of.