| Posted On: | 2009-01-20 13:11:59 |
nervous on Parc avenue,
pacing through the rainbow-boîtes
pastel & trippy
baby gardens, dead flowers, prickle weeds,
broken bottle under my shoe,
ganja-mon begging me for one-seventy-five
to hop for Tam’s
he-lazy-stoned-don’t-wana-walk
and i’m eating poets,
spitting out drums, banging on trees,
(dancing underground)
waking up the dead,
good-morning-radio
they say
i say where’s Em café?
i want a pint & a burette
i want a French-accent & a gram of clay
