Some Random Lads Gaff at 5am

By Paddy O’ Rouke

Sip the fast gas sporadically
random haphazard laughs
bends you over backwards
letting sober throw-ups hinder
the bitter lock tight grip
of the key between your fingers
fondle all the rocket blasts
asking crooked questions listing
ritualistic mysteries plastered
on history’s boring clock watching its shaky
hands grab the eight-ball in its jocks
busted jaws caught swaying like
a pendulum of insanity
lend me just one fantasy
can't you see the rancid leaves
dancing down to their bed of death
having suffered a gust of angels breath
beloved by most moving mildly
through mucus pools looming
with omnipotence little sense made
while pondering pious prayers
to the tyron sky upstairs.