rec room home | one act (like you like it)

exquisite corpse november 02 2005

the love of my life is at the hideout tonight
he has a beard and drinks buschmills
but he lied to me about cell phones;
he said you have to turn them off during
performances--but you don’t!
what’s in your backpack mr. savior?
whispering in the dashing smoothness water
all eyes on the wooden bench with the warm spot to sit, forever
she stared at her hand, as though there were something she had not yet learned but
could be discerned from a cuticle, or a scar, or a touch.
those poo-eaters sure do got it easy.
turn into a bridge, sweet thing.
recurring like the malarial bouts of royal geography
but, it’s not always like that, really,
rather it’s more like
i don’t love you and yet i wish i’d told you i did
had had enough of it, enough of all of it
there’s a bad moon on the rise.  and all the sandbags belong to her.
a gag reflex is no reason to stop now.
dude!!! the fucking patriot act!!! what the fuck.