SPIN CYCLE
Pants
looped after too many belts
don’t
promise success or bail free
waters
under dirty skies every
mixture
says don’t when the balance
beam
broke into a foxtrot just inside
the
screen door where love splashes
on
the rocks with the sand in the glass
falling
faster than angels and stockbrokers
with
sad suspenders oblivious to the spring
in
the step of the dreamsick broad ins
stained sweatpants cleaning out some boxes
for the rats to pray in the safety of their own
stained sweatpants cleaning out some boxes
for the rats to pray in the safety of their own
hunger
wrapped in cloverleafs and buzzed
by
choppers on the label of the hash can,
is
all I saw all day.
Shut up will ya’.
The vicar’s got a full count and a nasty
crease
in his trousers.
His
hitting streak is on the line and the laundry mat
could
regurgitate on the way to
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