Poetry

   
 
 
the smell of peeling tires October 8, 2009
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tilted to the left again
on a thursday 4am morning
i was reborn yearning
with a useless text
full of useless words
like poorly dressed nerds
out in a college bar
looking for company
from girls whose names
form a melody
that's more genuine than the hookers
on the vegas strip
i had to piss
so i did
i had to sit
so i slipped
and woke up in early afternoon
wondering if the stranger in the kitchen
will be off to work soon

i'm only surviving
amidst polite discourse
chores and desires
and the smell
of peeling tires