America - Gord - Aspoet


2020-11-06 12:40 am
A Fool, wreath of barbs,
Writing of films' stars,
Barns, and what lies beyond;
Tools for reaching disembarkments, 
A cool way to clean her clock,
A gun, put into a mouth,
Entire crowd in shock;
His cigar takes tocks,
Ticks boxes and lives onward.

He rewrites his ducks: swans,
Cooks his brownies blonde,
Looks at his frowning fawn,
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,
Like drowning frogs,
A fearless John.

When he writes of life,
It's to a howling mob, 
Sexy songs, luck gaunt,
One of us, One of us, One of us,
Eteonicus lives, reeds or not.