Two pieces of white cake with yellow frosting. Thick yellow butter cream frosting. Before going into a sugar induced slumber, I will force myself to write. Coffee fights the sweating as a homeopathic fight …good against evil.
Flopside comics suck and so do you
My fictitious Mr. Fuck “where art thou?”
You once hung with me and we laughed
creating those fucking awful comics. My friend your musing has left me.
When is it you last crossed my path with jest and obscene ways?
With your old story books piled high;
found in a dumpster behind the Goodwill store?
The echo of your fart from the alley as I walked down the street under a crescent moon…
those dark dark nights.
My muse, my pal;
out drinking anyone under the table.
Music so loud in you crib it was as if living in Queens near the Subway.
Vibrating, rotten trash and pizza but laughter that reached the Gods.
“Where art thou?” …
Your image blurs, wanders and your black boots and purple tie are silent in my closet.
I know you are living in our Bomb Shelter.
Come out for a shot of good Whiskey
I call on you. My muse and jester.
Let’s spend a day soon walking our walks and talking our talks…
cracking jokes and knowing that idiocy is around every corner.
I might even smoke a cigarette with you in an alley while I barf by the dogs’ lamp light.
~ Finis
