gangsta gangsta
what do you know?
gangsta gangsta
where will you go?
gangsta gangsta
who'll be your ho?
when death entertainment dollars don't flow?
Once upon a time I was a poet. A twisted poet, I think. Poetry was the right length for incomplete thoughts and brief, illogical impressions and moods. It was a way of cleverly expressing that which could hold its own weight said without hedging or irony.
It turns out that I have a lot more than a little poetry. Maybe 100 maybe more. But I couldn't put it here because that's Cobb all out of context. So I've created a new site called Post Boohabia. I'm likely to tweak them, some of them as I post them from the archives. Some of it is actually good. Most of it is unfinished. Poems are almost never finished.
So. Check it out. Post Boohabia.
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