Peter Yowie Poetry
is the post menopausal Madonna making headlines again posing in the nude? These are marsupials with kids in their pouch, and we were just fucking on the couch.
Madonna/mikala, I really don’t care what the fuck your name is love, you’re just another queer chick, as long as you’re paying by credit card in good times restaurant .
as that transgender woman mikala, Madonna is always getting the same thing, that she’s a bit of a bloke
it’s just like the vampires of new York, only it’s a table full of trannies in Melbourne and if we suck a little saliva, we suck a little come, what difference does it make if we suck your blood, God fearing one
written on the tram shelter wall is stand for Ukraine and a giant dick. What does this mean, the war was created by a giant dick
Here comes a trio of little boys all in blue coats, sure I have neon dreams about new York, here comes that Leo in Lycra, here comes the hero of his own life story
A last joint by the river, by the brown water, the city gossip. I woke up feeling like a failure, but I steal a moment of serenity, a stranger’s footsteps, I drink my Tennessee whiskey. At home all day and night I hear the planes, and the sound of their engines is like tunes in my ears. Sometimes there’s not a soul to be had in Flockhart reserve. I do get lonely and poetry keeps me company. A white concrete tower in the distance, a ten minute walk to the Terminus Hotel. That’s how I like my marijuana, on the go. At MK media office, I’m just looking at the picture, two guys in suits and a dog.
God loves a cheerful giver, don’t damage your liver. I went down to the hair salon and got my lip pierced. Among the rockstar strong hold hair fudge, a sharp pain followed by a stud through the lip, so spit it out poet because words don’t have to be pretty. The body piercer wore doc marten boots and when she put her needle through my lip her face was so close to mine we could have kissed. In a modern day shopping centre, Roman Saxons in an ancient city.
my neighbours all know how loving Christ is, how dependable he is, so take a look in the mirror because maybe the problem is you. We talk about the divine made human, we’ll how about humans becoming divine. I see the potential in every human being, yet they come into this life marred by their fathers and mothers and looking for the help in their sisters and brothers. Somewhere in a plane from Rome, between India and Indonesia my friend told me a prayer how I’ve got to let my anger go.
I’M lonely and I don’t know if there is a cure. From behind velvet ropes in my mother’s womb to my marble tomb. Saturday morning cartoons and popular tunes. I drink the loneliness into submission and when my mother talks to me I remember the young woman she was.
