Thursday, June 11, 2021

Summa runna cumma, it’s twenty-won.

Gotta short fuse, watch what I get done.

Gimme all my money—I ain’t short on funds.

But my writing block’s over—that shit was fun.

Speaking and I’ll repeat, I am his son.

Twenty-won the sun shines for my runs.

Modern day hustlin, my money ain’t fussin.

With incomplete words, I should buy full verbs.

But nope. I publish dope.

Creatively struggled against these ropes.

Writing a beast who overcame being broke.

Money issues choking at my got-damned throat.

Went forth anyhow—my body’s a boat.

Floating through life to give up?

Competition should hope…

I don’t mope. I just go.

Unlike me long ago,

Writing for broke.

Grab a coat.

It’s cold,

Bro.

-Budd

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