#61 Youngblood / Why so Glum?

As Is What Was is a collection of poems created with no thought at all. None. There is no control over grammar, sound, rhythm, idea, or anything really. Why? I thought it would be fun. Is it insane? Absolutely.


Sigh youngblood

Why so glum?

Heard you were chief of the reefer scum

Naw don’t take it wildly

Not to be erratic but they’re just down from the trees

Watch know about the birds and the bees?


Now youngblood don’t get chummy

You might find yourself making out with poison ivy

And trust me it stinks

The last time you want to be cut is on an ice rink

All over the frozen you’re gonna show your true colours

That’s no way to bring glory to your mother


Hiya pint of irish thou don’t speak

There are easier wrestlers that don’t have time for the weak

So spit your goggles and tell them the truth

The little shooketh by the open ruse

ore of the ages

In a simple state they take their respite

The utter delight of a widower

In praised plight

Down on the haunches by the glass tomb

The awful sinister synergy

That crept from his womb

Now don’t be a fair one


Sometimes there are little ways to be gone

The underbelly of the beast is a colourful one

See the markings of the ecosystems have left

Ah they don’t do more than be your best man bet

Nah youngblood’sod don’t have it this way

Park your ways by the freeway

Don’t jump 

to conclusions

Aye don’t conclude your illusions


Youngblood don’t grow old

You might cut too deep

Might grow too bold

Finally beneath the ice

A home they sold

Now ain’t that cold?

Later cold blood

Don’t you fold


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