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My joints are Dutch Masters
Crossed wrath-tossed oceans for the most commotional crow and dro That kicking foot, Goliath stood Dutch growers could hope to sow Overeem passport, half the store up my hole. I get it past for sport In dreams I’m revisited by the physical remnants of burnt passports.
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Having it
Frank admission, my issue’s rarely regard drug acquisition Attained standing and position by preying on addiction Hug my missus before heading out on business She bugs me about staying clean, hitting books My crooked books are cooked, worried we might be bugged Circle of salt, not warding off slug assaults on my bergenias Too dug…
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33 with ground to gain
Hi, I’m Mike and I’m a corruption sponge. What else explains satisfactorily my ill gains Despite all the pain I’ve caused, the wrong I’ve done. Blood on the illuminated pages rubies in the sun, The monk rather erupted, He who oft spoke up when another evoked hush. That work is never done, of turning to…
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Beta flockers
CV tight and concise Neat hair, ironed suit and tie First in line, positioned prime At the fruitless tip of a recruiting cliff.
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Sisterly advice
His flagging body a bank vault of tension and nagging tautness Slumps as taught at the sedative’s intervention A tip off from a relative he won’t bother to mention Save saying that’s one skeleton he’s didn’t expect to credit In this indelible – uneditable – working of his miserable life’s grist Into something edible for…
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Alchemisland 