My pants are cool
My pants envelope my leg's circumference
The have moved to Rhythm
To tones soft and sultry
They have frayed and ripped to
Frenzied beats and Frothing mouths
They Guide my feet through streets unknown.
My pants are faded raw
Dirty as Lust
Durable as John Fuckin' Wayne
They hold the Tools to reach my World
The Keys to my Art
My pants aren't right
If they don't go CLANK
Around my ankles when sweet Love is around
- or if it is time to sleep.
My pants are my companion
Scruffy, Used, and Loved
Whatever Pants they may be.
This bit of poetic excellence brought to you by
Chris Curran!! artist and ninja wordsmith!
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