Ship of my Shit

Race cars and bra’s
make the soup for your fathers,
while mother goose jogs into the Sun.
Let bombs drop but never harm
the twins that come,
for I am one mouth
never fed with corporations making cuts
to honest sweat from tired fingers,
the family has spoken how I failed.
The whale can be heard miles away
as I sit by the fire in its heavy belly.
I walk the plank and take a parrot to its death.
Beautiful angels wait for the weight to be lifted,
I am lonely and need a wife.
My life is treasured only briefly
by you reading all my sores like palms.
Throw a coin at my chest as I beat it.


Author: leeethomas

Visual Artist, musician and writer from Australia. Interested in Love and the Mind.

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