Sunday, November 6, 2011

Box white donut

This powdered box-white donut tastes
like a beach-side motel in the spring
Even with my door wide open
I can't hear those birdies sing

It's now been one year in this apartment
in this self-destructive town
I would leave but I fit in here
another pitch to make the sound...

Of millions of hearts yearning
Of millions of backs breaking

To make another dollar
To pay another bill

So they can forget their bodies hurting
So they can enjoy the time they kill

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