angus there was a cobra with the night sleeves
see how i am not mentioning what he has to do for ages...
again, Angus, candid as always
wears his mother's wig
takes an appropriate step or two
vanishes into the taco of his pride
splits in two parts
oily and bereft
he would benefit from professional pants
light sucks a little flame from him
maybe he will be able to sin again
marbled and aflame
nostalgic for cold weather
sexualized music that no one could touch
but which touched him
but he was not ready and the music had ruptured him internally
and his insurance policy had lapsed
despite,
Angus had a macho gait
and a motorcycle
and could crunch numbers
night sleeves hungry for off-radar jag
the wings of an opaque calix
lacquered and righteous
the motorcycle rips obliquely into the night
on the caramel road
something clings to an Angus rib
it is a feeling
it is a barnacle
dammit, Helvetica
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