Like butterflies pinned .
into photograph albums.
chronicles of love and enmity.
with dates posted at the bottom,
and becomes a docile legacy,
like an explorers journal .
to be studied and cherished.
for centuries.
My lore is eternal.
something to carry on retrospectively. Faceless illustrations .
of scintilating magenta.
painted in the spaces.
is the imitating Cinderella,
the dull Mona Lisa,
the pulchritude of medusa,
my only sons, mamacita.
my heart, is clearly glued and sutured.
like shards of fine China .
puzzle pieces.
We miss it. This is cards with By the time men's lovers drifted with the seasons.
Where, how did it begin?
Oh, Where does it end?
Now and again?
If I cared, we'd befriend,
I'm a tourist, at your attraction.
now all I have are souvenirs,
And numerous attachments.
Please excuse me.
if I lose one here.
I maybe never, not angry,
laughing most when I'm sad,
freely sold into slavery .
to manage what I don't have.
Should I reap the field?
Or light it ablaze?
for each one I kill.
I will ..write my name .
like a trademark signature of quality, authenticity,
a mako shark on a ligature.
, chocolaty deliciously.
murder a lover, torture a friend.
The serpent becomes her.
and things will never be kosher again.
I've Come to understand.
that I was supposed to pretend .
that I knew your direction, baby!
And now the blood of another man .
is frozen again.
I'm not human perfection.
Most alive inextremis.
staring death in the eye socket.
I didn't die for different reasons, narrowly leapt from the sky rocket.
Lee tag behind,
keeping an 8ball in my side pocket.
And rehab in mind.
, just in case I try to stop it.
Like butterflies pinned .
into photograph albums.
chronicles of love and enmity.
with dates posted at the bottom,
and becomes a docile legacy,
like an explorers journal .
to be studied and cherished.
for centuries.
My lore is eternal.
something to carry on retrospectively. Faceless illustrations .
of scintilating magenta.
painted in the spaces.
is the imitating Cinderella,
the dull Mona Lisa,
the pulchritude of medusa,
my only sons, mamacita.
my heart, is clearly glued and sutured.
like shards of fine China .
puzzle pieces.
We miss it. This is cards with By the time men's lovers drifted with the seasons.
Where, how did it begin?
Oh, Where does it end?
Now and again?
If I cared, we'd befriend,
I'm a tourist, at your attraction.
now all I have are souvenirs,
And numerous attachments.
Please excuse me.
if I lose one here.
I maybe never, not angry,
laughing most when I'm sad,
freely sold into slavery .
to manage what I don't have.
Should I reap the field?
Or light it ablaze?
for each one I kill.
I will ..write my name .
like a trademark signature of quality, authenticity,
a mako shark on a ligature.
, chocolaty deliciously.
murder a lover, torture a friend.
The serpent becomes her.
and things will never be kosher again.
