Deborah Cliff

I only write shit when I’ve been awake
For at least 18 hours so the words kongregate
In flash frames of inspirations and pain
When the noises set in and the world becomes faint
This is canned beat poetry, the kind that I sell
On bandcamp when I’ve given up on playing shit well
These hi hats are dust on a vinyl slowing
Down until it amounts to a groaning
Breaking out into these horrific red welts
Because death inspires me like it inspires something else
Whoops, looks like I’ll be hitting the blogs
My soul is strong, I’ll be there before long
And by strong I mean rich and by soul I mean dad
Residual checks from back when he bought a cab
Service in new york before it took off
And millions of lazy pricks went and bought
Because one day I’ll break this ironic charade
But I won’t say when I break down the facade
And for the homies in the booklet who can’t see this rhyme
I fashionably mispronounced the words that you’ve mimed
And furthermore of things no one will see
One is myself untouched from parody
Of some hope that I’ve had when I’m on
The positive end when my mind’s like an ion
I look at my sunglassed figure in the mirror
Make airguns and tell myself I’m a dreamer
A hopeless piece of shit skidding on fumes
Fueled by paypal scraps and packets of legumes
Not nuts, I gave up on that when Trump won
Still can’t sleep, rhyming sober’s no fun
But I’m not twenty one so I mess up my brain
With hours of information building up like grenades
Bring the jewel and kneel at Deborah Cliff
And wait for the winds to bring me to better places