Spree 10

 
baise a rottle
tall a coast
howl the roof down
to crush into pulp
the last struggling patches
of sobriety
swing the spring
of this insane society
celebrate your breath
however spirit stained
it heaves in out
to keep you higher
than this
swilling spilling
complement

scream along
to a sing-song
right or wrong
badly tuned
mind marooned
golden gong-gong

then grab that mighty
more-than-sword
and scratch a chord
of chained words
into something, anything
close to comprehensive

and dang ditty
if it ain't poetry
seeping through