I do not know
What poison you are
Talking so cut it out
With a small winking
Pen knife poised to
Deny, elide, slice off.
I did not blow $1K
White rails built from
3 month's living like
Church mouse scrapings
Those 100,000 pennies
In one tiny pile
I am not charging into the dark
Won't, can't, am not
Fighting the burning blood
Splashed in hot jets
Across her smile, a back-handed blow
To the hope she kept tucked
Safe away for some slight tomorrow.
I will not show you
The curse on my lips
Curled back in rictus play
At a grin while sermonizing
On having compassion for
Your own self loathing brand
That is most certainly something
I do not know.
No comments:
Post a Comment