1763

The pumpkin tools mixed in the bookbag
With the pizzicato from all the umbrellas
In the Revised Standard Edition
While I was moving from the abdominal crunch
To the lateral raise to get away
From all the a cappella groups in dire need
Of monitor amps and loving before
The wilderness came scavenging the pavement,
Oh it was intense as the chicken
Flying through the open screen door
The fit of pique propelling it unclear
Of motivation, white and soundless places
Ask me to write a song of the good hood,
How midnight always asks for my ID.