Ashes, ashes, vol#1

 
if you don’t have a pocketful of poesie

in this day and age

you’re liable to get sick
 
 

–and not sick-sik–

(sic)

since sick’s the new bad,

which was the old bitchin’,

that took over for boss,

upstagin’ cool,

kickin’ groovy curb-side,

which wasn’t a rut thing, but meant something was the bees knees, and we all know how cool bumble bursae are…

right?

since posies

scent

aren’t love letters

right

but

meant to prevent plague inspiration all along, and face it—plague isn’t all that inspiring but if you do—

you do

–breathe in that fetid foul, it’s your fault for not learning how to rhyme,

or at the very least

fanning flowers

at the fevered.