“This is a funny little ditty straight from my writing journal, unchanged. Written at a bar while enjoying some drink.”

With limp eyes drooped in apathetic indecency
I stand on the brink of the roof
And yell at the moon with an arf and a woof
Wriggling out of my hairy skin
With yellow canines and a daemonic grin –
 
I stare at the light, green through the slats –
Green and white in the half moon light
Staring with blank black eyes
At the red petals of her faithful prize,
Pretending the damage done was damage slight –
 
I howl with a crack in my grape-dried voice
On top of the roof I howl with no choice
Armed with a map to yesterday –
A day yesterday when we were wrong but known,
Now right and unknown in a mildewed today;
 
Soaked too long in the grey spinal matter
Thrown aside like slung paint splatter
To the truth in no truth and the action
In no action but ancient survival recipes,
Handed down from family and faction.
 
Not far removed from the deer-skin covered male
Or the bare-breasted food gathering female
We follow these modified recipes of antiquated life
Down streets teeming with passionless half-ways
Hearing the song on the street of bare-foot praise.
 
Lead us to these forsworn streets of dismissed lore,
Ever drawn like cattle with hoof and bit;-
We will not rise without the whip, without the whore;
We will not sing our freedom free from shit,
Though we will not win passed out on the floor. 🙂