Friday, April 29, 2011

Straight Shot Down 2nd Avenue, Manhattan

Tunnel view - capsulated street ship.
Aborted submarine.
Desert shark.

It's these guys with ties that imagine they're on the rise. (They sure walk like it.)
Slappin' each other's back cause Thursday's been the new Friday
since before they joined the workforce.
Is it football Season?

She reminded me of the old heroin face.
The color or lack thereof grey skin.
Still cool.
No problem cause I've solved it, for now.
I could be dead wrong.
Donuts are sometimes the happiest notion in my mind.

Nothing brought bliss like the sweet cupcake with purple-pale icing.
Delivered from the Cakelord herself,
fully becoming the solid fruition of her legend,
her sound, her utter being.
My savioress, I savor.

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