Sauce (A Poem Wherein I Drop My Laptop*)

I’m all up
I’ve got the sauce
The stuff
The live wire
On my spine
That makes minced stewy slop of most problems
A cajun would refer to it as the gumption
Muses are a pluckin’
Because the low crawl
Has gone millepede
And the damned thing
It’s never satisfied
So the brew must be made
Good use and care musts too
To fuel the combustion
Of kombucha over-populating
The energy produced
Funnel or burst
Slake thirst
Or suffer
The tide can shift or drown
And my fourth chakra exhales
As it rides the swell
Hell to plummet into love
With the moment
So carelessly

*it appears to be fine.. I really did drop it. During the writing of this poem. This poem that I wrote just now.. Like it was one of those pours-out-perfect ones. Like Oblig. was. You know what? Fuck this poem. It was too easy. I should be ashamed, in fact, I am. I am ashamed. Sorry, everyone, for putting you through this, really.


About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook:
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