.
everyone's getting ready for a crucifixion
it's cooking like juliet was
on that porch pitching her ghoul talk
under the impression she's being self saving
but its really just self-serving
but a cook with a gule (not glue)
won't know the difference between a mountain
or a lover twisted by her wanting
hankering for an unrequited love
wants the kings at her knees
not cause she's wrong but because
she won't move her ego
a t the speed of light
imaging persecutions brought on by amnesia's
american foil a lady cooking her juliet stove
not her romeo jewels or clasping verses
from the boy's heart afar
pretending there's no pretence in the conceit
of being sore an' in pain
but it ain't no rain to say that
standing at a faked difference
that's really just the same
as everybody's pain
and not the aphasia she once had
it's not a poetic condition
but a way to beat yourself
selling off her curls
to public saying Poor me! poor me!
is that anyway to treat a lover letter
with lighter fluid?
go light the barn
& kick yr ass out
.
(bad poetry writes itself sister)
.
