Half sleep and fully drunk
The Man called for his horse
Tongue soured, the brazen hunk
Rode U without remorse
And the serpent knew where to bite
Your wounds were always fresh
Twas U who spent the night
Offering Shylock a pound of flesh
The return trips were constant
No matter how rough the bloke got
Always puffy beneath your squint
Tears the size of Oak rot
When and where does He come?
The one who snares the bonds
Which hour will U be free from
The finger bracelet dipped in bronze
There are no lonely rivers left
U drank them all before the dawn
Trying to avoid your sunken treasure theft
A secret of gold The Man can't pawn
But whatever he wants he will get
U can't bargain with His head-trips
So today U take my order and split
Unconcerned with my survey or tips
YOU ARE READING
MY little BROWN BOOK
PoetryThis is a collection of poems I wrote in an attempt to highlight moments of my past. People used to have a little black book they kept numbers and addresses of people they were involved with or interested in. So I decided to share some entries from...
