Trading Places feat. PancakeBrah

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, August 30, 2013 Under: Rhymed Verses

Trading Places feat. PancakeBrah

Donnie Darko pajammy-jams. Amy looking sexy.
She had initially replied to my bird calls. But wouldn't text me.
So when doleful ambition led me to a wooden pantry.
I grasped for the honeybuns within, erstwhile hollowed out,
like the beige interior of Brooklyn Bentley's. Sulfuric taste.
Am I a repeated bad luckster? Suffering fate, as the night sky's drifting past.
is this God's way of inflicting wrath...
Do nice guys with nice (aspirations) for degrees really finish last?
I wanted to share an awkward glance. Feel our presences linking.
Trying to make an impression and thinking she'll be interested
in what I have to offer as a man if she even possesses an inkling.
A truly adorable caramel Jada Pinkett type, with half-painted nails.
A warm laugh, kiss on the cheek, dialogue seems to be pacing well.
He'd rather go out and freefall than start dealing with the pain he feels.
Aboard Darjeeling bullet trains, concealed. In a lower compartment.
He's reading Langston Hughes, his blue nose in the parchment.
Modeless, Sephardic, a Roland McFarlane. Dressed in the robes of a harlot.
Breathing in the same air of disappointment that's left on hotel balconies.
His heart holds...well, agony. Haggardly. & with impeached directive.
But a surgically sharp intensity tends to surface when you least expect it.
Lease neglected on intellectual property. Say goodnight to the Highland lad.
who's buying Axe to tie a sash around a sighing siren's ass.
Who knew we wouldn't make a vibrant match?!
There's no choice. Guess I'll have to drink this wine, then crash.

Telmar drew a charcoal mirage along the margins in the back of Qur'ans
picturing sarcophagus catamarans when the family's packs of cattle were gone
because the Iowa Caucus's plan had forgotten the Caucasus of Azerbaijain
Playing freeze tag in mausoleums, his father would sip from the old Ale
in a worn dishdasha, viewing his land now stripped of it's gold shale
you could almost feel the breeze off of Henry Kissinger's coattails
His sister Aydashka would make her hijabs, thumb locked spooling
and at night enjoyed gum drops until her tongue stopped drooling
while she played the olynka and gusli with a SubPop tuning
Working the sod was awkward and grueling, as their father sweats
a real Saspirilla caterpillar, he cultivated in quarter sets
The Kurdish Elk, he watched the dubbed Lost of Damon Lindelof
and brought the dushdara everynight (Telmar enjoyed a thicker broth)
While thousands of miles from the cattle and pasture
George W. had schematics and logistics for satellite trackers
he fancied himself an entrepreneur, a real International Fracker
and had no time for Aydashka's maladroit laughter
It's Always Sunny in Hajigubal, and obtaining oil is just a matter of law
Telmar's fields made the perfect spot for Haliburton's 'Plaza Mahal'

In : Rhymed Verses 

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