Poems from LoonChaser
Im on a slow train
down to the south of main
scenes like a blank page
melancholy rain change
workin for myself man
nickle made of tin can...
Victor your so creepy
and i think you might be gay
you lie way too much
and you never go away
your a freakin wierdo
creepy wierdo
please...
I don't own a lot of things
all i have are these set of strings
i played my way through the southern streams
where the hippies gather...
and i never kissed your supple cherry lips
and i never felt the freeing touch from the grace of your fingertips
and i never gave you...
Touch this notionDon't bash against a trying inflictionJust try, if you may, just tryTo fly along, grazing away at bottom...