Saturday, February 14, 2009

Bill Burroughs Won't You Please Come Home?

"Nothing is true...everything is permitted"

I miss you, Bill, your nefarious centipede dreams in one
room third floor walk up bare mattress on the floor
peeling paint water stained walls, floors years filthy
grey plastic over broken window hot plate can of beans
infiltrated by G men faeries con men second story men
flaks fakes flakes factotums junkies crooked Peruvian police
assassins that kill you with breath through crooked teeth
shootout in the Boulder cemetery
I'm sure at one point this was my life.


0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home