Get Poemed....Type A Drunk!

 

Get poemed...type a drunk

 ©-MFB III 

 

buttons, buttons,

beady eyed

black buttons,
fat, fricking,

fumbling digital rejects,
stumbling over

these square pressure points
that make up words,

Hell, no that's not right

I make up the words,
they just sit there

and get caressed,
now what was it

I was supposed to do,

"More Gin Please!"

 

 

 

ooops,

Hit the space bar....

a few too many times,
but at least

 I have me a tab here,
now where was I.........................................................

"Oh, yeah,

type a drunk when I'm poemed."


Brains all fuzzy,

locked up tight,

feels like a

concentration camp,

My eyes are bulletholes,

 bloodshot,

gotta drain the vein soon,

then I'll be feeling bladder

wish they had a porta potty attachment

 
to this computer thingy-wingy,

doggone blurry little white letters,

 
what's wrong with neon green or orange,

damn screen's to bright,

can't see what I've written,

I'll hangover it in the mourn,

pull on some shades,

a cold beer

and some underwear,

wonder where the hell I left them,

damn vinyl chairs cold,

 

sqqueeeeechhhh,

jeez I'm sticking to it.

I oughta get to bed,

let me see if I can get up and go to....

" C L U N K ! !"


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