A head exodus

Oh, lady, we all fled from you, lady queen.
Your skirt shafted and flayed my husband,
wife-beater him, that drank his head right back in.
The mean crux of your being is my auto de
fe proving how much I’d mind
boating us in the red,
lady, old Monroe.

The drink won’t quit me,
lady, that ever sold me upriver sucking
silly words I gave you free, for a lady
that parted the waters anyhow. I’d mind
your skirt if it clapped for the crowd
that fled from it mimicking the dust
around your feet,

quick lady.


~ by Jeremy on August 14, 2012.

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