At the Brewpub

Standard

Smoking in bathrooms
the tomb glitters with gilt rage
the sages stage their exits
and existence lifts the quilt

stilted longing
throngs of bourgeoisie fucks
with their thumbs up their GMO-free asses
(the lower classes are more fun)

running the style gauntlet
onset dribble
quibbles about cash
or a secret stash of grass

(all mine I tells ya) (all mines)
product misplacement
a latent urge
which is no longer latent

-r. miller

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