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Old Romantic (Fifties Diner and The Four-Minute Warning)

December 19, 2013


Your campaign for social justice.
Each painful.
Status update.
Remember, little bunny
There’s several ways to skin a cat.
And if each cat in hell.
Must give its pelt.
To cool your twitching conscience.
And appease the vegan vultures.
If you remember nothing.
Try at least.
To remember that.

The story stops.
But it never ends.
You send me the odd letter.
Just a couple of lines.
Cause I’m feeling so much better.
That I’ll never have to spend.
Another gruesome night.
That your hand wringing.
Dickhead friends.
Are even semi-close to right.
On poverty, truth and privilege.
Never allowed to leverage.
The open fact.
I was twice as smart as them.

You’re a slut drunk on neon virtue.
I loved you for a year.
And I’m not afraid to tell you.
Each boiled tear.
They never fell.
They never fell.
You’re Hermes’ loud-mouthed whore.
Clattering out quicksilver.
A flake and a fool.
I don’t miss you.
Not at all.
Not at all.

So maybe I could see you?
If I’m ever down your way.
Buy you drinks.
And loan you smokes.
Find reasons you should stay.
And if at closing time.
You end up back at mine.
You can share my bed.
I’ll turn my head.
And everything’ll be ok.
Because you know that you can trust me.
I’ve never told a soul.
That you’re all I ever think of.
Never told no-one at all.


From → Poetry

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