Jeweled kingdomPeople zooThe sex of richesWon by few Palatial coolnessInferno blazingMisted desertLustful gazing Lines of feedersSnaking throughMazesWaitingFor their food Glitz and showgirlsOiled menConventionersAnd lost weekends FantasiesAnd booze galoreThe beauties, beastsArray of whores Pay to playThen rue the costOf visitingParadise Las.
Sometimes I wonder what age people think I am. I mean, I know I don’t act like I’m 29, but I am, sadly. I’m 29 and still get asked for ID. Even for fag papers. Okay, so I don’t buy them any more because I’ve given up smoking, but over the past year, I have for friends who still smoke. It’s kinda sad, but I was always know as the one who had the perpetual fag in his gob. I love how British that sentence is. Anyway, what ag...
A trio of poems about my favourite drinks, first Tea:A cup of tea,is a labour of love,boil the kettle,warm the pot...A spoonful of leaves,One for each personand another for the pot,it really requires very little thought,but a lot of love.Infuse infuse, for five minutes or more,it really never is a chore.The satisfaction of a lovely cup,is that "aah" at the endand the warm feeling deep inside...a cup of tea, a labour of lo...
Lady Vodka, I want youYour strong scent combs my noseYour tangy taste burns my mouthAll the way down my throatYou burn and slip down so smoothLady Vodka, my first true loveNever leave me, Lady VodkaFor without you, I'd be lostLost in a pit of mediocre boozeOh, Lady Vodka! You're the one I choose!
Beside us raced the hurricane. 140 mph of sheer twisted speed, barely able to keep up with the rented Corvette we’d picked up in Toledo, let alone my amphetamine fueled brain. Under the dashboard was enough acid and ecstasy to turn an entire nation of jihad spouting Islamists into black-eyed love monkeys. Wrapped up in tinfoil and enough duct tape to open our own OSH to keep those drug sniffing bastard Nazis commonly kno...
