lidown that stupid poem that stupid boy wrote 030412
sab red star tattoo on a forearm on a street that was every street and every forearm and every boy in big black baggy pants and a pair of trainers

eyes under a fringe of hatblack and boot black and rolling around the back was a singing chain, dancing in time with his hips ringed with a tartan boxer line

conga line
caffine line
train line

and empty lips
nocturnal alright, who was it? you know what I'm talking about. 051008
pete he's mars, who knew, watching down as we walked through the door. 051008
what's it to you?
who go