shrunkYou hate when I get like this.
Neighbors are coming over
if not already here,
the knock is forthcoming,
when they cart us off to jail.
That Breckenridge cop is coming
to make us all feel wrinkled and old
She has promises of Robert Dingle,
Lynette Dyrant, Jenny Capra,
Clay Corbus, his 165# and a 38 inch bust
and Don Clay, wonderlust. and the fold
and a 40 inch waist of lust
Come out come out whereever you are
I swear that I saw you in 1984
in a local topless bar
Then there was a Rhidernicht
and her attitude and crust
our computer class I could not forget
she was never ever going to be as good as us.
We are another collect call
to make on Sunday
hollow promises left to keep
and stories to fabricate.
Too drunk to finish this poem,
I am forced to wonder where it began
it turns out that we are all dead, anyway
so I guess it doesnt matter that
We are interrogating our own prison.
