Tag: more half-baked garbage

We came, we saw, he died.

Let’s all “drop trou” and whiz.

Weenie, widdie, whizzie.

“Golden slumbers fill your eyes,

Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry.”

They draft nineteen-year olds for a reason.

By definition, they haven’t carried that weight

A long time; gittin’ back home

is just a plane ride away, innit?

But the cranial walled-vaults and basements are

the entire home entertainment section,

hallucinatory surround, boss graphics,

gutsy plots, and that now wrenching

circle of fifths, beautiful and sad.