June 30, 2011 in One Act, Poetry

Frigid burp.
Cheers you’re stepping on an orange.
I did that to see what you’d do.
Clip-clih cla-lop clip-clop
Bright oncoming headbeams shine ice on a further pole.
Contrasting the black sky with wet poignancy to see the vision through a squint.
I wheezed.
Snot ropes are whipping somehow dryly.
So I walked and now I’m actually sweating.
You must be super drunk.