… I'll never make it as a writer, the void called, said who are you, the everlasting question, was I the character, or the narrator, the baby is crying,

Pick her up, gentle baby rock, smooth jazz playing in the background, the man was hunting for her, the soldiers and the marksman, aim, on three,

Eleventh season of breeding,

Three deer strolled by,

Said hi, said I want to be cool,

Then do a spin for me, honey,

Let me see how you make your money,

Damn, wasn’t she pretty, wanted to do her job and go, said this will make me grow,

And it was okay to her, said you make me feel pretty, the bees knees, and elvis,

Followed her, did a drive by, broke into her house, searched for her blouse,

Was committed, said I was unsafe, and he died in that place,

Woke up in heaven,

Called home,

Said the doors are open,

Are the soldiers ready?

Are her legs open?

Ready to eat,

But I didn’t cook anything?

I’m starving, better heat the oven,

And he came inside, I said I wouldn’t do that this time,

This guy said hello,

I’m going to shut you out,

Till you open up that blouse,

Till you buy me a house?

Never, twelve eager beavers, and a third party, disclosure agreement, the boss said it was okay,

To go all the way?

To San Quinton?

Never, this guy said he’ll drive her, to the hotel, pick her up, when she’s ready to eat, and they fed on his body for three days,

The harvest was bountiful,

Made his exit,

Lingered,

Said is it okay?

I'll see you this Friday,

And my boss came inside my best friend,

Said thanks for letting me meet her,

And her therapists came next, said he helps me find release, I hope he treats you right, and three lovers began to quarrel, and a fourth guy waiting in line,

And authority came into question,

Asked if he made it?

Said next century,

And the poet cried,

He was very depressed inside, said would it be nice, if I really cried?

How low must the devil bow,

To suck this dick,

Was it thick?

It wasn’t quick,

Gave me a fright,

Said I want to try,

Tried, failed, moved on,

Was obsessed for a while,

Pulled him into the underworld,

To search for her,

He hopes to die there,

Wake up in a dream, save the maiden thirty thousand times, said don’t be polite,

She was a virgin twice, the man started bleeding,

And he really died,

And my family celebrated,

Said thank god,

He’s in heaven now,

Where the truth will never harm us,

Like the truth destroyed us,

Burdened us,

With its glory,

Just a story,

And the poet died as well,

Said never,

Art goes on forever.