a poem
Say for the pardon of a minute discretion, I pardoned my shoe to the creases of a reeses. Sunny rays and bloomed flowers portray such shinny incandescent chips on a frito lay. I say to no displeasure, my own enthusiasm of the evening of weathers. It’s nasty outside. And I’m not fond of it. Isn’t nice to relax up down inside a lazy down. Flowing through the bumpy reeses of such tiny pieces. Picks of guitars and amplifiers galore belong to a man who shouts as he snores. It’s dizzy and fizzy, nothing such as nice as a daisy for Lizzy. It’s a nice beach curdled up by the shore, I buy a few funnel cakes and yearn for more. It’s late and I dine outback, underneath the palms… sipping on drinks of Corona by the shores. The moon falls to the crescent near the clouds. I walk inside, smoke a bowl and play punk rock real loud. Fat Mike calls me up. “Another nite alone” said he. I cry a bit beneath a breath, and drive over as soon as can be. As soon as I walk in, Mike hands me a drink. “So how’s it going? Did you release the EP you guys were working on?” “Nope. Not yet. We still have a bit of editing to do in the studio. It’s almost done.” “That’s fantastic Mike…” I listened (but hardly listened to what he said as he spoke). I walked past him, toward his refrigerator and grabbed a beer. “Paco” he says to me. “I was talkin’ a bit with Erik Standin. He’s really diggin’ the idea of a split between NOFX and you!” “I’ll think about it.” I said arrogantly like a child of early Hollywood. “I’ll get back to you on the thought…”
