The Brown Crayon Chronicles

by Honest Babe on October 16, 2014

Marcy Ave.
There was a face and some hair,
I’m sure.
But that didn’t
It was the cross strung out across
tanned skin that hit me.
And there, the gold plated, 
diamond crusted ornament sat.
Pious, Penitent, Pornographic Plagiary.
The gems twinkled in between
a pair of twins that were
the only thing worth remembering.
Soft, Succulent, Sinfully Sweet.
All of which were fake,
but looked good,
like the woman
who proudly
supported them.
Billy Wright – Stacked Deck
Kansas City Jimmy – Cheatin’ Women
A new ruin.
To be said
is indeed,
the opposite
Shintaro Sakamoto – Like An Obligation
Shintaro Sakamoto – Extremely Bad Man
The Nectarine Diet
My lady.
Yeah, she’s mine.
A vegetarian from Georgia.
I tell my friends,
I says, “Guys. It’s getting pretty serous.”
They say “Yeah? How serious?”
I say, “well, I’m thinking about going vegetarian.”
They just look at me.
They can’t believe it.
It is unbelievable.
Then I say,
“Yeah, its not as bad
as it sounds,
Alls I do is eat peach all day.”
The Oh-My’s – Peaches
Jimmy Cracked Corn, 
Jenny Went to Oxford
and I Still Don’t Care.
It’s a problem when a woman’s
got a nice pair of brains on her.
And the problem is her
finely-tuned, nuanced nose
for sniffing out bullshit.
They become the goddammed
sommelier of shit-heads,
and this one’s got my number already:
(J.C. of ’86)
Bright. Witty. 
Both engaging and entertaining, 
but damaged and immature; 
the hangover isn’t worth 
the two minutes of charm
the label has to offer.
A poor finish, somm’s it up.
Now, where’s the spit bucket?
There’s a bad taste
in my mouth.
Its tart and
reminiscent of
The Baker’s Cousin
I slept with her twelve times.
She left me before
lucky number thirteen.
Can you believe that?
When I called her,
and asked her
“if we could do it once more
just so muh poem would
work out alright.”
She said, “Fuck you.”
I told her,
“I guess that’ll do.”

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