"Small Talk", Vulgar // Split Eight

[Split]

SPLIT EIGHT

so
Her cardigan's parted, just playfully though.
Paying parting regards to common waves. We patiently pose.
Establish painfully arrested cliches. Sentenced since ages ago,
Then play-act em away as if some development showed..
Save when we're stumbling spelling all drunk,
discussing some jelly filling, bellying up,
The setting's spinning, constantly spilling..
Resenting that her top 3 jokes-
are bottled turns of phrase Franz Kafka prolly wrote
as it's torrential rains all on my Parade-page/ paper-maiche gondola boat.
Seriously got to me though. Coming up dry with pause-reconaissance quotes.
Grope for dated coffee-table novels, we'll awkwardly page through,
Edgar Allan's God was that raven, God's just a deja entendu-
Stay up-lifting the bottle, baby. Cradle half-full bottles of Gray Goose.
Are your problems stable? Putting up the rent that's got until pay is due?
Talking is bargain bin. Go in oh-so prepared,
As faux as my fake-and its opal pro-pylene glare,
So barely warm on this worn out, poorly carpeted square.
Are y'all even aware youre misquoting the whole status quo?
As self-image aware as non-problem kids can sadly go.
You already know that I'm there: been caught on it, i'm all rhombus,
She's a box-office swan song, she's diving deep,
Meeting me and leaning on this boxed product,
More'n often talks nonsensically to me. Wanna isosceles her angles,
On and on, some-body please, explain her plot synopses aren't all impossibly deep.
I catch more feelings for Poes in Zelda, hella bastardized types of youth,
than Bella Don of self-shotty prodigies, gone cracked and try to find the booze,
Got me bottling demons, caught between this magnifying of truth-
-lends some limelit lantern legions, all sing song saying-sooths,
Said you find that after leaving, "not all spirits are calmed by a song you see."
Maya, I missed all our sopping sheets... as in toss the script.
Shnopps and peach, you shot some speech,
Cops and shit, stopped and geeked,
Not all these odysseyes follow proper plots like prophecies,
Standing off outside to not-breathe, Maya and me smoked in 2012.
"The weather" just suited me.. just fine. I don't hail and tell.
"Fines" just isn't selling favors. Fine, well... Spit it out.
...in 64-bit peace, dream desert grotto sabbaticals.
Gobbled all those Adderalls. Attention crawled back to battle,
Reload study chambers, steamboat the paddles,
distorted/ deadpan bravado of the "yo still nothing major" measures,
that's clouded out the shadows we'd stand for in the sun's dusky vapor zephyr.
What were you talking about?
shut up
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VULGAR
so
this girl was sketchy on some bullshit (she actually drew)
a Blade Runner requiem, left me with a dull tip (she was actually Drew)
Rule 1: Diamond-studded bodysnatchers flock to light like moths
protracting the fact that opportunities fall onto laps: Life might toss
I abided by finite laws; sights set on Dawkin's approved delusional wisdom
I'll tell you what. 'Honesty is the best policy' got me landed in vitruvian prison
coded larynx transmitters, cerebral attachments, all tied into a spire
Relationships didn't wreak from the passion - a One Nightmare Stand,
I stood bright, yet perspired, an MK-Ultimatum that was icy as Breyers
leading Hope Armadas may lead to blindness, hence this conjunctivitis acquired
slurred words perturbed, exchanged with a heavily chlorinated valkryie
My passive genes didn't convince Cathleen to go out for decaf with me
Didn't jizz in my pants - I gave GZA my pen
since intellectual inkwells tend to dry up if verbal swords travel in liquid descent
Mistletoe prickling again. Breast milk sweet, but why the ruthless haste?
if Bora Bora Bora bores her on a movie date
I couldn't splooge a grape, unless this was truly fate or just an ill gimmick
Peeling back a chilled Guiness, wishing I could still finish
She's a lollipop guild tenant, it ain't a wasteland if there's a milf in it
Post apocalyptic skies, cold Cirroc and dripping wives.
Coastal docks, my dick's subscribed to Vogue: the Panoptic edition, Time
plus her tits&eyes, I tsk tsk if I don't get a rise. Not trying to preserve my condoms.
The wheels of sexual fulfillment are reliant on the turbine's columns
solutions confusing as Harrison Bergeron's two steps
soon as I reach second base, Lucette gets loose-lipped
drunk, pasted, trudging - too bad Desire's interlaced with Glutton
I proudly declared as if it were an ancient custom:
'You don't have to be a baker for me to taste your muffins."