I feel like John Mc Enroe, when he puts the string in glow.

John Mc Enroe!


My name is John Mc Enroe

Do you know my poetry?

It will be written with blood

With the blood of the bad referees.

My tennis bag smells like gun smoke

And there's no tennis stuff anymore,

There's only strange books big maps 

And a picture of a girl with a strawberry face.


My name is John Mc Enroe, do you know my poetry?

I feel like John Mc Enroe, when he puts the string in glow.