My Love lies over the cold prone ocean;
I ejaculate a spiralled brocade
Of tainted flies over paper hole punches.
Leprous verse crowds my colouring book.
The vagabond whisperers, with plots, cook.
One-way hopes never collide, but encrust
Misgivings into harsh filaments
That rake my impetigo in gross whorls.
Pallid rhyme infests my colouring book.
Three thousand hands-on judges call me ‘schnook’.
Clearing-house bordellos of soft-core schmaltz
Reel in millions. I thought I was ‘Prince’,
But they popped turds of every joker, fool.
I put down my bird-sprayed colouring book.
I have the poetic wiles of a crook.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment