Sunday, April 13, 2008

It's a (small/small/small) small world, bricks & glass underfoot urge the grit to grow, a hint of a scent--immaturity--takes flight, We Roll with Pete Rock but drop trees less & less, every day uncertain (drink with vigor), fuck up with friends/friends/required friends, fret/obsess when sober, lust for 1 job with an actual income, & have no vision to attain dreams/needs/requirements to live/life/peace (art/art/music/sunshine).

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

straight out of the b.long playbook.

&rew said...

that punk dr. b.long biked by me this morning as i waited to cross the street.

mike said...

trade you?

&rew said...

i don't wanna go to maine. don't make me come to maine. your voicemail was hilariously retarded--why do i bother pointing that out? because i'm hilariously retarded too.