the sounds my teeth make in the evening

habit of spitting blood on crt monitors.
tongue bit clean through yet exceedingly sonorous
and greedily i fling the flood. drink deep this chronic spurt
or link me a fitting deed honorer,
for inking my omnibus would waste time
surer than a spaced line.

oh, i did that anyway, my
prerogative is fogging up the lenses
and clogging up the senses
so i suggest you chase that clartin with patience.
paint me on the pavement and observe my perfect placement
while i idly comment on my lack of common sense and payment.
i compensate with plague drenched prattle
and pointlessly addled statements.
what good is order to a vagrant?