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Last Chance #21
Chances have been piling up like skulls in Warsaw, World War 2 or 1, can’t recall the horrors since movie productions stuffed popcorn in my dry mouth, with butter to stick my tongue in case I loudly speak to the formerly opinionated script.
Casino nights, condom packages, and prince cards stuffed in my back Levi’s jeans pocket, have I mistaken the rules? What’s next, I murmured to the dealer while buying a Campari but only because the red dress mistress asked for one to match her address, I could not find on my cellular-less palm to make a gesture, modern people just don’t get it. Intention or attention whatever it was called in poetry class or the police department while I was arrested for pickpocketing Jewish holiday donuts, whatever they are called or tasted by a foreign Nordic lip that simply couldn’t distinguish between hate or love since the street festival was painted in beer color and senses have gone sleeping with an evolutionary urge to breed in the form of an explosive orgasm, with a stranger, that looks like the absolute opposite version of a genetic expression.
And today, it has been polite.
The chance was not quite seized but squeezed with a fear to lose so clowning took place to choose anything but crumble at the living room floor pondering out the window of doubt and about what doesn’t rhyme with pussy flavor video games.
Porn, it’s called porn and it rhymes beautifully…
