pop high

you come across as a popeye philosopher
spin ich
it’s all fast food
vast food
body distortions through larger portions
and you have to come to understand

with your wheat belly
flip-flop feet smelly
jello and ice cream, and jelly
and peanut butter
you heard what i said, did i stutter
he rams his fist against the posts

i’m not going to insist i see the ghosts
drained of spirits
like an empty vodka bottle
so you have a taste
after you clean your teeth
you have a taste
after nuclear war
you have a taste
and the whole thing laid to waste

i’ll knock it off
i’ll knock it out
a popeye philsopher
pouring olive oil to keep the pasta separated

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