Title?
There isn't a over thar'.
Thar' ain't coming over 'ar.
T'weren't for the bridge to far.
T'were for the 'Lac of a car.
'Lessen' you stroll from that thar' bar, wreckin' inside yer weak bar, yule be found unassembled in a bar. Which urn? Shucks, that bar what they leer, Rick. Achoo! Bless'd bayou. Lord! A Better Bee! Naught sum, fuckboi. 'Round production line time. Scheduled fore disassembly rhyme.
God Damn It, Cletus! Now where in the name of a Major Minor did your fumble brains get off to with me treble clef?
I fucking hate White Necks...
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▾ This Poem's Voice
Your Poem's Voice
PersonalThemeAbstract
Mix of personal anger and abstract commentary on class/identity.
SparseMeasureDense
Multiple dense ideas compressed: dialect, death, class, rage.
DarkSentimentBright
Strongly negative: rage, contempt, morbid imagery throughout.
StillEnergyExplosive
Explosive language, profanity, exclamations, fragmented syntax.
MicroLengthEpic
Approximately 12 lines total.
PlainFigurativeOrnamented
Dialect/voice play, dark humor, personification in 'bar' repetition.
LyricVoiceDramatic
Mix of lyric rage and dramatic persona/character voice.
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