Monday, August 27, 2012

For the Win


Far from a cultural authority, the grass was subdued.
It ruined us for speaking plainly. Arguments came unglued,

having been released on their own recognizance. Crying
over one’s formative juices rivaled the pizzazz of dying.

It was time to start shirking. The aging drill sergeant disrobed
and fell back to feeding at popular eateries. The time had come

to get dumb. I was feeling limber; few knew my love's
true extent, but soon they would see. Mendacity was key.

Coming in from the blasé cold, I was delighted to see
those whey-faced authorities awaiting my autograph.

My phone kept buzzing, so I gave it a tongue bath.
Every foot in your mouth is a gift if you want it to be.

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