...a guy behind me in the back seat popped right up and cupped his hands across my eyes!
I guessed "Is it Uncle Frank or Cousin Louie? Is it Bob or Joe or Walter? Could it be Bill or Jim or Ed or Bernie or Steve?"
I probably would have kept on guessing, but about that time we crashed into the truck!
And as I'm lying bleeding there on asphalt, finally I recognize the face of my Hibachi dealer, who takes off his prosthetic lips and tells me--EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG
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Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
I was daabbed in my graass, and suddenly
(source: Omaba's New World Acid Trip)