Trumpets are announcing the tragedy of love
Poems are about moonlight in a swarm of analogies
I stand in clover in closer communion wild-eyed
When the mood strikes fall whisper Waiting for ideas
Into a Polaroid photo presuppose the purpose of flesh
I haunt the Earth a poet inside the last womb
You are with me in a plastic bag
Trash in the groin hastens our endless yawp
Would you lie with me here
MAKE BOSTON POETRY GREAT AGAIN
No one puts bunny in a corner
All my friends are leaving New York
And somehow I always forget about the round in the chamber
"So let's restart the show that started at nine"
Soon there will be no stars left in the night sky
I just flipped a few cars onto their sides
Today was a tough day to be a Bernie Bro
It's like that time they canceled "My Little Pony"
Meanwhile Pokemon Go has melted down my phone
In soccer matches they shouldn't give out yellow cards
They should just spank players
Wake up with a nosebleed
To all the Republicans who've been trying to bust
Hillary Clinton for the last 25 years:
it's possible that she is just way smarter than you
There is a place called Whiskey Island in Cleveland.
This is a place I hope to visit and then wake up
Screaming from a ditch.
Until then I'll be watching Fox and Friends with Benefits
Under a Zappa Moon
But how can we make Boston Poetry great again?
Possibly by wearing pilgrim hats with big buckles all over town