We can hide hate
in our ink
dripping bitter or
flinging subtle knives
We can rage against
unknown men whose
elections serve
to down integrity
We can talk
with parted legs
almost letting you
grab our privcacy
We can babble
citing intentional
confusion masking
our unclear vowelage
Or we can kvetch
to our notepaper spouse
who takes each brunting
tome without comment
No Comments so far ↓
Like gas stations in rural Texas after 10 pm, comments are closed.