We all pass
The homeless men that cops chide
That the Union Guys learn to hate too
And the Subterranean Queen who gives cheap favors
For some sad lonely dudes
But a slow 180 to freedom
From dark moon tar
Will bring meadows soaked in sun
Nimbus sprinkled skies
And the easy repose of an hour bus ride
Draw
more drawings
and
Paint
more paintings
Of farts on
Fire
And massive babies
giving birth to tiny adults
Spindly Blue Men licking their own asses
Women Skydiving
with babies attached to umbilical cords
That are also skydiving
in spread eagle form
Wearing helmets
and parachutes
donning faces that fight the wind
Because
When we look at them on canvas
We can’t help but laugh
Being 8th grade fuck boys
Which we still are
hiding in bags of Cheetos
that lie below beards
and Cheetos stained wine glasses
