Friday 4 October 2019

Not Quite


Not Quite


Not quite, is it? No. They’ve not yet been there.
Never dazzled to become, are, will be;
chewn gristle, sipped pissle, flossing hair
with razor wire until why can’t they see

mine for me, as Morrissey singing
you tried so long, profess second sight
bleached words in your head keep ringing
you earned the right, oh maybe not quite.

Scant the huddle-muddle nooks
to bullhook lost lambs, singled, push
reluctant, preach broke china crock
of shit behind back handed hush:

shush - lisper ‘I like not that’,
cross-stitched smirk bespattered face
that bitter green spittle racked
cat-spite can’t quite erase

what’s left inside of brain,
where greed hob-gobbles grasp
for name, pushing inane,
bitch filed nails rail and rasp,

strip mine wiser tongues.
Use soft boiled malice
words to corrupt young
minds, not quite callous

in twisting knife.
Dark in corner,
stabs stiffs in strife
all who mourner.

At any rate,
spreading good
contemplates
a sainthood

grip bag
lip sneer,
tits sag
fake tears

all
right:
Not
quite.








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