Who killed the pork chops?

Swaggering liberal patron dubs my haircut“the siege of Sarajevo,”Carthaginian peace with my dead cell legacy.Short on fingers to count my days since coked out sunrisesbetter problem.Ribs poking through like springinvest in the fabled cast iron skillet.Body struts back in purring for affectionthis constant demand feed me lovefamine years gleaner dizzy with the possibility of the next furrowstaring up at her like the clock at the end of the shift.