Drop
Shrug to see you
dropped in again,
you, or one
of your half dozen clones,
ubiquitous as
war zone drones
hang in
unwelcome clouds of mosquito,
yellow
fever, maybe malaria; careless.
Clickbait chicks late half undressed
you’re passing
off as truth,
but there’s
little in that face left of youth,
not much but
chittering skeleton less tooth,
wound up, staking the place out,
all plastic dentures, disclosed pink plaque,
words that
rhyme too well with crap.
Like, hey, good looking, your profile’s
somewhat cool; let's defecate and defile,
get cooking, put the
chips in the pan,
come together, reply me when you can.
And it grinds
you down into disused mills
this
endless, hopeless, helpless land,
where no one thinks to pass exams,
a blooming world of full blossomed scams,
rip off this plaster, lend me your rash,
hold hapless
hands out for dropped cash.
No comments:
Post a Comment