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And so... Another Loose Thread Runneth... Yes, another 'loose one' running and funning through OB... Ever stitching Sisyphusly... Has sewn together a part 3... This stitch came easily... It's none other than me... And yes, of course I think he's especially, a poem's poetry...
Stitch #13- 'The Starbucks Guy'... As 'of-it' not 'in-it' claims he be... The pathless-road moment to witnesss for thee, goes thru Starbucks OB... Sleeping in a bush of branch and warbler by the sea... Paradoxically... He stumbles under pre-dawns sky, pees a live wire gasmatic pee... Zip-smiles, lifts arms up toward only one sky... Says out loud 3 times, "O God Beautiful" and bows to Thy... A peacock with a colorful feather up, he's flown cultures coop... Walks to Starbucks 5 am thing, for hot java, a roll of tissue with that poop... Sage or psycho... Wisdmatic age or kiddie tyko... He seems comfortable with the odds... A relative fifty-fifty, not seeking applause... Wears hats like possibilities, saying, "F$ck the Cause"... BEEEEEEEEEEEECAUUUUSEEEEEE... We are the Cause... La Di Duhzzz... La Di Duhzzz... This walking contradiction's... Diction... Aereo-spacey blue eyes glow lunacy or bliss... Blessed by angels or betrayed by a devilish truth's kiss... Sits by the window for forever and a day... Yesterwas a core surfer, now poetically surfing himself away... A lerky Jester's presence of do as I say... Or a Light-Ray on His Glorious Way... Aware the OB Looking Glass Mirror reflects both way... Camel-like-crossing starbucky floor and desert Existence... Asking cutesy baristas with routine persistence... "Just a cup of hot water please..." Flirting with out conscience, a Cirque Sole tease... He-He-He'zzzzzzzzz... Into cheddar cheese, at Peoples... Bowing along the way to various steeples... Feels that all of us, Be dance extensions of Light... Gots no issue of wrong or right... On the solo-reality flight... All harmless-hippie-ninja fight... As he keeps sipping hot water, making a bladder tight... And then it's back to a barista, "Just a token please..." Happy-flirting, Dancer-dashing off, to re-release... And back to the 'routine table' disease... No job, no ass-kiss, no one to appease... Eats sparingly, his homeless-body on a lease... Just another mirror reflector, being as he bees... He'zzzzzzz... A little like GI-JOE SCHIZOPHRENIC... Minus the tape-recording grin 'n' tonic... Disguised as 'writer', spying, chronics the supersonic... Uses words all ironic and possibly iconic... A blue-pouch-Bali-Shag smoking bitch... this salty chameleon is every other stitch... A postal like 'Bicycle-Billy' Starbucks glitch... Of the needlepoint reliability of all stitch two... Gots the same name as OL Tomas, Mr. Catman-Doo... And a poem-like Lovely Lola Luna, stitch number four... He's Boston minus smashmouth, into Cosmic relations more... Like every-all, he can be chilly and silly... Shares 'informant' ties, but to whom, another Shoeshine Willie... Picking up souls, not butts, ala cig butted collector... He Bozo-walks as much as the Aussie Streetwalk reflector... Happy-healthy-free, see's a playground, 'just go rope her'... A non-supressing space-cowboy of devilish thought, thus Ross the Groper... A cheap date, the can collecting coper... By virtue of the path, a town rock star as air stitched eleven... He's been to the Electric Chair, chatted, and knows Hell, can easily be Heaven... Peace Out and revvvvvving, up for Loose Thread X 4...
And so... Another Loose Thread Runneth... Yes, another 'loose one' running and funning through OB... Ever stitching Sisyphusly... Has sewn together a part 3... This stitch came easily... It's none other than me... And yes, of course I think he's especially, a poem's poetry...
Stitch #13- 'The Starbucks Guy'... As 'of-it' not 'in-it' claims he be... The pathless-road moment to witnesss for thee, goes thru Starbucks OB... Sleeping in a bush of branch and warbler by the sea... Paradoxically... He stumbles under pre-dawns sky, pees a live wire gasmatic pee... Zip-smiles, lifts arms up toward only one sky... Says out loud 3 times, "O God Beautiful" and bows to Thy... A peacock with a colorful feather up, he's flown cultures coop... Walks to Starbucks 5 am thing, for hot java, a roll of tissue with that poop... Sage or psycho... Wisdmatic age or kiddie tyko... He seems comfortable with the odds... A relative fifty-fifty, not seeking applause... Wears hats like possibilities, saying, "F$ck the Cause"... BEEEEEEEEEEEECAUUUUSEEEEEE... We are the Cause... La Di Duhzzz... La Di Duhzzz... This walking contradiction's... Diction... Aereo-spacey blue eyes glow lunacy or bliss... Blessed by angels or betrayed by a devilish truth's kiss... Sits by the window for forever and a day... Yesterwas a core surfer, now poetically surfing himself away... A lerky Jester's presence of do as I say... Or a Light-Ray on His Glorious Way... Aware the OB Looking Glass Mirror reflects both way... Camel-like-crossing starbucky floor and desert Existence... Asking cutesy baristas with routine persistence... "Just a cup of hot water please..." Flirting with out conscience, a Cirque Sole tease... He-He-He'zzzzzzzzz... Into cheddar cheese, at Peoples... Bowing along the way to various steeples... Feels that all of us, Be dance extensions of Light... Gots no issue of wrong or right... On the solo-reality flight... All harmless-hippie-ninja fight... As he keeps sipping hot water, making a bladder tight... And then it's back to a barista, "Just a token please..." Happy-flirting, Dancer-dashing off, to re-release... And back to the 'routine table' disease... No job, no ass-kiss, no one to appease... Eats sparingly, his homeless-body on a lease... Just another mirror reflector, being as he bees... He'zzzzzzz... A little like GI-JOE SCHIZOPHRENIC... Minus the tape-recording grin 'n' tonic... Disguised as 'writer', spying, chronics the supersonic... Uses words all ironic and possibly iconic... A blue-pouch-Bali-Shag smoking bitch... this salty chameleon is every other stitch... A postal like 'Bicycle-Billy' Starbucks glitch... Of the needlepoint reliability of all stitch two... Gots the same name as OL Tomas, Mr. Catman-Doo... And a poem-like Lovely Lola Luna, stitch number four... He's Boston minus smashmouth, into Cosmic relations more... Like every-all, he can be chilly and silly... Shares 'informant' ties, but to whom, another Shoeshine Willie... Picking up souls, not butts, ala cig butted collector... He Bozo-walks as much as the Aussie Streetwalk reflector... Happy-healthy-free, see's a playground, 'just go rope her'... A non-supressing space-cowboy of devilish thought, thus Ross the Groper... A cheap date, the can collecting coper... By virtue of the path, a town rock star as air stitched eleven... He's been to the Electric Chair, chatted, and knows Hell, can easily be Heaven... Peace Out and revvvvvving, up for Loose Thread X 4...