not shit well in a month

parsing the decaying matter sprayed from fecal hole (shot in the night through elevatored shotglass)

throwing bones looking for friendly-augured rhythm
automatically associated foe-fiend splits the basis point down the middle, right to the gnarled quick

casting 20sided die does the same

___#2___

and there was a man who once told me
“if the druggin don’t kill me, the boozin will”

and as semantical arguments become a past-problem
the more pressing of the now-problem is readily sunshined apparent