Party Central Nervous System

It’s all over roving apathy.
Tummy tuck and roll out
the red carpet baggers
bragging about sock hops,
ghosts, and garbage trucks.

I had a fuck of a time
trimming the limbo stick.

Twelve licks to the center
of the agonized action park
that the darkness left teetering.
Pornographic upheaval.

Them weevils is wobbling.
Cobbled together
with all kinds of hobbling
heartaches baked in Sunday streamers,
dream symbols, smart shockers.

Alas! Cockblocked again.
Next time, try dry heaving.

-r. miller

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