Brainlick

Kerouac sat-in, breathed-in, freaked-out-in, and were-in. Breathed-in, freaked-out-in, and were-in. A different time. Used to get in a night. Get in a night. It was worth coffee and store credits from book-shoppes hired. Credits from book-shoppes hired. Stranded light bulb lanterns. Stranded light bulb lanterns. Commputer mendocino county and drag dome books back to where the city lights women after our shows and after waste and tree banging. Waste and tree banging. Can't get Take-In, Take-Out, Breathe-In, Freak-Out, my teenaged not today. My teenaged not today. Keypresses like quiet touching poetry readings, I can not go who listened to our words, our Only a few bucks were made Because of the month of October, a night, sometimes. October, a night, sometimes. Used to be from 30 and 40 year olds were, cannot go back to SanFrancisco, and do a reading or two I cry. Or two I cry. I wait for the body buying smokes and cheap grass and meet up in south beach not to be drained, today, mach

 Fortyfive in six months, forty-fucking-five.  Strange nights of messing off life and being the not good person.   Destruction is part of my thing, I guess.  I break things, wreck cars, break hearts, call girsl too many times that don't want one drop of a second of my voice, my kiss or one millimeter of my c**k. Questions belong to those who burn their lamps at the evening hours where they say that witches fly and walk and smile and cackle and run with packs of wolves and cats, rabbits and black dogs, most of the witches don't fly on brooms anymore these days.   Mainly they leave their brooms at home so their closet faggot pedo husbands can keep the house clean while they go out and fill their bodies with booze, drug, smoke, and powder, gracefully kissing the night with   life's edge of danger.  Nothing said sincerity like having a cold draft beer for a buck or less, or so, back in the old days,  in  places called a "dive", a "dive", can have everything