writhing about bed, under sheets that tangle with you. A mass of lead. A mattress with a vendetta against your rest; ready to stab you in the back and leave you stiff.Not on the floor, does comfort quake with repugnance, but instead we find ourselves left to our own freewill. Retro, avantgaurd, bohemian, country, punk, and the 60's, OH! an era has a category all its own; how sad is our country. Oh the world! You are not doing much better now. But it may be stupidity on my part. A passer by caught an eye of a person who was at an Applebees. In their head, through their eye, the passer by still resides. Forever, the passer by, a brick lead. Hurray for comedy!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.