Cubicle Coat Hanger The Beginnings Of A Poem, Any Thoughts So Far?

The beginnings of a poem, any thoughts so far? - cubicle coat hanger

I'm going on a bumpy road, past the suits at the door
FAG and tilting at the entrance of the church another convert.
He seems very quiet, no eyes still on the dance floor
opportunistic medium, mainly minors and mixed gradually
a pretty girl, bored with the other patent leather cracking
Alcohol and many spots of color on the other end of the flexion
What remains of sunlight in a rainbow wave, dusty bar,
half felt in the bottle. I pull my coat, feigning indifference
to sit and the feeling of drunkenness and holy, in a snowy day in March.

Pressing the side against the damp wall on the lookout for more
Drinks and some form of action, the hot air dissolves, without violence,
is only for students, proud and stiff shirts buttoned, hair dare to explore
the great emptiness about us and a spider, scrapie, a desire to silence
tubers and three of her weakened body, matte bronze imitation
Year of smoking, hanging with emerging lucksters hope that visitors
in electro-discoDowners have a girl, a man or just a feeling
Suspension of all thoughts and dreams of leather furniture,
You run through the stars, or help you look at the ceiling.

Go to a cabin, the lamp flashes, sirens silent
Empty the space behind my eyes a few seconds, I feel the sweat and fever
The opening of the youth, extension, such as red wine with us in black vinyl
Carpet and Rug Glass Candy, which vibrates. With an effort, press
through sweat, limbs and small tragedies of rubber containing hair
the center of a tomb of breath, open and loose in the twilight
Reflection of reality, the moon sentimental specific requirements
Joe Strummer Spanish guitar was never beaten, Spain
But barefoot in her garden, she loves the lifestyle as well.