Wednesday, November 21, 2012

newfoundland! Fisher men!

this is how we do it, I'm bait
I'm sitting around standing up straight
there is the confidence, the poise
there is no one around me, just noise
I have this cousin who hates me'k'
ause I have broken myself on my flaws
There is so much here to strip off
when I'm sick I'm dying, I coughed.
she's aware of my insinuations,
Her indignation, my stain, her cons
I'm ready for justice, I'been wronged
Cause I'm wrong, right? not strong

the worm, on her hatchet, the hook
standing around naked, nothing but look.
Ill drive around wondering,  pulling
The bow is broken quaking, mistaken
I'll have another drink at the bar alone
I'll have another call on my phone.
Fucking bastards are soulless and cold
Her breath mistaken, eyes set in gold
I declare an autopsy to watch the bait unfold.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Let's say life stops making sense, and our time becomes something acidic. Would it not become painful to exist?

Joseph Burben said...

sounds like it. Yes

Anonymous said...

then how do we neutralize that acid, and make it into something basic that we can understand and accept again. is it a discovery of self within the miasma that is the life we live, that some part of us still clings to the good that we see and wish to excel it to be a catalyst for the growth of good. it cant work until we let it work for ourselves..

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