Just when I think,

I write as bad

As comin’ home

To viscid,

Four-hour old,

Dog-shit stink.

I keep on –

Poundin’ and bangin’

On the plastic squared letters,

No-fuckin-sense

To the arrangement,

Board of keys.

Somewhere...

Out in the eventually...

I hit the sentence speed...

Like vibrant acid-flashbacks

From south-of-the-border,

Beaches in the breeze.