on borrowing $5 for 50c vodkas

unfortunate and empty, my pocket speaks to me. she's lonely. almost as lonely as my lushy lips decorated in purple stolen from jen. they conspire... find a lost vegan, undernourished and therefore easily convinced. she has $8 all told, and adopts my lust as her own. she must hand me some bills, she just handed me the biggest of 4. it's the 5, the coveted 5. 10 vodkas if one had no tipping etiquette. but i am at once reminded of my hasty thirst by the ever present wagging finger above. i patiently swallow the first squat v/t, and reach around myself to pat me on the back. then i suck the second down with vigor.. mq on the stage leaving no more eyeballs on my bevie.

yummy delight! what a scrumpy dum looloo. i got it bad got bad got it bad, i'm hot for vodka....whoohoowow.

copkiller

i veered just outside the sheriff's path, catching his sideways sneer just in time to affix my safety belt. he must have really had a hankering for his raised glazed because i was good as cuffed if he'da just hailed me. but i escaped, funyun on the runyun. sitting in the pile of chocolate chip onion sticks, i read up on buckie's adventure. he wandered the hazy eyeballs of his night, recording all manner of folk and fodder. not so much luck on my page. fairly blank; i guess mag and i need more time to shutup and work. if we spend our catchup time drawing poems, we never make a frame of reference in which to deposit the booty. like a coloring book. or a frame. or a peephole, ooh teeny.
okay, howsa bout a poetry:

sweety sugar honey doll
could you give me your all?
pack it up
in your snatch
make it
take it
to dispatch.
baby bunny lovey
use your drawl