A Pouring of Words

Stimulant bees crashing against a caffeine screen between my ear lobes, my left and right lobes. A loaned stoned I must pay back in stacks of waxed cotton. The fruit and bread’s gone rotten, flower’s polle fallen. The cheese is stale and like the mail, it’s all junk, hunks of funk and dunk. Fiberglass butts on fire, pires of harsh smokes and tokes poke fun at lungs, tons of bums run dibs on dead cigs but pass up ripe figs. Fee, fine, foe, thumb, there’s a wall that needs to be shunned, gunned, runned out of tow but it’s not in Berlin again, it’s them! Those are the perps! Those are the pains! They’re drinking champagne, laughing at dames and dudes on pains and ludes in army boots and living in streets, for they lost their keys and can’t get in, fallen down and can’t get up, pursuit of happiness disrupted, corrupted, just plain interrupted.