She’s Someone

Dan and Robin 

What a wholesome pair.

But Dan went crazy 

(He really lost it out there)

Maby it’s those genes-

(I said), maybe it’s those jeans. 

Men arn’t always what they seem.

She’s someone to abuse

The girl who won’t refuse

His heads a little swollen 

From the fully paid refuge.

So while he’s sleeping in till noon

She’s fighting off the goons.

He pretends he doesn’t notice

Because she’s paying for the room.

Dan is kind of flaky, 

And now he’s saying ‘make me’-

So they did and now he’s sorry 

(For being alive). 

A little happier than her,

But it just isn’t the same 

As letting her know

(Letting it show)

She’s someone to abuse

The girl who won’t refuse

She knows that he’s a liar.

And I think he knows it too.

Her friends told her forget, 

So, she told them that she did

But the cruel ones placed their bets

(And laughed like it was fair)

(Because) they really don’t care.

She really don’t care.

For his blue eyed price-

His face is swollen from a fight 

And now he needs her there, 

(What a lovely pair).

She’s someone to abuse

The girl who won’t refuse.

She threw his ass in jail

(Now he’s got nothing to lose)-

Except her sweet perfume,

It’s filling up the room

He thinks his tiny cell

Is gonna be her tomb.
                                  

                                      fin


[*From THE VEAL COUPLETS—-(songs of veal), 
c.1992, by Jennifer Konojacki]



The Weak Link

                                       Part I

There is a dank, and terrible place-

(That used to be my heart).

Hollow, and without (even) a

sliver…of light, it’s 

abandonment screams (to my 

body), without effort. 

In darkness-its cold. 

The moisture it holds, (is 

uncomfortable), and 

I feel something, 

slithering.

(It’s resident horror-show 

secrets; abundant), are as 

numerous as the words, 

I will never hold back.
                                       

                                        fin 

                     

                               

The Road Not Taken

  
I am the road not taken.

I am not offered,

Nor displayed. 

A lease, overdue-

Never signed by me, or you.

I am the slow burn.

I am modesty.

I’m honesty, and suffering.

I’m hate without forgiveness.

I am the road that has never been taken.

In hotels, I have always been

the room that has never been stayed in.

I am the dead end road (again),

the obstacle, the swell.

To Vegans, I’m a carnivore.

In Peace on Earth, I’m Hell.

I am the vehicle awry.

I beg for maintenance-attention.

I need your filthy love,

but, I prefer your base affection.
                                   

                                        fin

  
                        

                                 

A Nightly Prayer…

…if I die, before I wake;

I pray to more than God to take-

my soul, my heart, 

(lacklustre light). 

All the love, my waning life.

So, if I die from unavenged madness;

I pray to something more…

like balance.

Consume the cause of looming sadness-

right the iniquities,

stop the kindness, 

(from being raped beside me, helpless).

God loves most, but 

favours the spineless.

The Forgotten Twig

I am a twig, on a 

branch, on a tree, by 

a river, that used to be blue.

A fountain, that used to be cruel.

A stream that was beautiful, 

vital and cool.

Angry, (with an insatiable 

hunger); its great, 

strong undertows

swallowed dogs, 

and children,

and broken hearts.

The days became seasons-which 

turned into years,

and I watched mans recompense,

for every wayward soul.

It’s  beautiful  banks, are befouled with

filth-the air, permeated, with urine.

My arthritic limbs, once housed in

lustrous  greens and 

browns, are now brittle, and dull.

I am matte and impaired, and

I fear 

my white, winter jacket.

My tears can’t be seen,

amidst the downpour from the sky.

(I cry for myself), but 

I weep,

-For This World-

is a scourge upon nature.

And each passing soul, those 

young torrents had claimed, was a

cumulative bill, paid back-with 

foul, septic waste.

Now, there’s a bigger storm coming.

Someday soon-Pandora will open

Her box…(so)…Don’t 

waste your breath on me.

Forgotten is the twig.
          

                    fin