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whose pocket, what pocket, where did i die
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whose pocket, what pocket, where did i die |
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Tramp Poet Senior Member
since 2000-01-06
Posts 754Could Be Anywhere... 
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Pick Pocket she comes whispering... gyrating her ample hips grotesque flame color on her lips trying to pull me down to mount me on the ground “while she picks my pockets clean.” he comes whispering... wares, innocent in his hand trips offered, never leaving; you understand? trying to get me so high to lose the will to decide “while he picks my pockets clean.” they come whispering... wearing those Italian suits lying tongues sloppy and loose trying to fool me to believe their crock of hypocricy and greed “while they pick my pockets clean.” Sage screaming, “Who is really to blame?” “Is it not self that allows isn’t me the one taking final bow?” “Trying to get just get on by to shuck and jive, to stay alive?” while our pockets are picked clean... bleeding... "Tis ink coming from his arm, Captain!" |
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| © Copyright 2001 Daniel James Burt - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Yu Lan Senior Member
since 2000-04-13
Posts 1462New Zealand |
Yeah, hehe.. it IS like that.. ^_^ Hey well done Dan, (and your 'topic' brought a smile.. ) I suspect you'd not have to wash your pockets for a while.. *_^ Love, Lynne |
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Dopey Dope
Moderator
Member Patricius
since 2000-08-30
Posts 11132San Juan, Puerto Rico |
Wonderful poem bleeding. I enjoyed it to the max.  I was born myself, raised myself, and will continue to be myself. The world will just have to adjust. I'm in love with my shadow I admire it daily |
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