bells
vestigial piety
catches me with
my fly open
in sunday
morning’s face
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vestigial piety
catches me with
my fly open
in sunday
morning’s face
This entry was posted on January 22, 2012 at 11:11 am and is filed under Writing and Poetry with tags art, baseball, birthdays, cake, cannibals, christianity, criminal activity, explosions, gangster, god, harold camping, homecoming, jersey shore, liquor, love, love lost, miracles, music, pagan, parks, partical physics, patriotism, philosophy, poetry, red sox, religion, satre, short story, suspense, thug, trains, travel, USA, wombats, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
all of it
January 22, 2012 at 7:45 pm
hey you tricked me thats not about wombats
you need new pants if you keep having accidents