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