Satursway

Sleepsical day, Satursway, milk and munchies, grey is gray. And all the streets are filled with footstep feet that barely keep up with the Jones crusher. Goddamn the pusher, babycakes, who takes and takes the world’s mistakes pretending to be almost not quite round: oblate.

Guitars are leering out from corners, little Jack Bruce all creamy goodness, woodentops and metal cheese string, we sing, sing, sing, sing while the buildings fall like tumbledowns not made to last, faster than a single bound. My hands are tied.

Bricks, the devil’s daughters piled up twenty thousand more and mortar. No, I’m nothing more than dreamwhizz whimsy back to bedroom, back to sleepsical the livelong day.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s