How much, how much is guinnessgiving the arts saint Bridget askedas her shite turned black. Afraid to looko’re her shoulder for fear the darkdemon would pick a space welllased on her spine between the blades.
Close enough to her neck to breathe
down ceaselessly, gracelessly, carelessly
instruction and contracts.
Small print hiding them facts. Facts like the few inches between a kick in the hole and a clap on the back.
There you go so, sir and madam; a stoutpromise from makers of the brew a huemacadam. This road a road well well rodeand traveled. Drink it up, drink it in with a brotherand sister from another mother. Or, fightfor a teat ignoring the weak. Like there is no tomorrow.
You beg, they borrow: now all is sorrow in your placeof worship. Ahhh… is it worth it’s weight in fleshas you flash, crash, wallop a loaded logoall agog with the go go.