I did that bit so many times, Man,
Vegas, Frisco, and the Jewish Alps.
Christ, it could have been Timbuktu,
Jersey, or Idaho for all I knew
I couldn't give a rat's ass about
as long as they knew it was someone else
when I played to the back of the room
and alchemized puissance into pissants.
I'd do something blue when I was dying
even with blue haired church ladies present
so everyone knew there wasn't a God
until I brought the house down again,
but all that remains is improv now
for a no name nurse on the graveyard shift
and dude in the next bed biding his time
with another big hand for George Carlin.
d. June 22, 2008
Please Rate This Submission:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- Recent
Comments - Add a
Comment - Send
Feedback Send private anonymous feedback to the author (click here to post a public comment instead).
There are no recent comments (5 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (5)