she’ll die tomorrow

–gun in hand

hand that guided

pastel

before pistol,

color

before dolor,

paint

before pain,

that hand will trigger

an end game

she can…ah…live with

–Russian Roulette

grown tiresome.

Loading every

monkey in that barrel,

she’ll cry rough

–for the last time–

punch buttons

to bells

to voice mail unheard

she’ll die tomorrow

(all over again)

gun in hand.

I dismounted

my high horse,

(a stalled one)

stable

–ized–

show pony,

(my little kiss & tell)

–unpinned

tale from

ass

(and penned it)

–learning how to

bear the load.

Emerging from

decades long

cocoon,

Butter ripped anticipated

wings

–on unanticipated observer

and

Tattered,

Battered

–a forcibly excreted

bi-product–

Butter couldn’t fly

Bits of purgatoried past

sticking to

velvet,

and brand new hell, besides,

Butter couldn’t

even be

a drone.

Fluttering,

Flapping,

Butter tried

taking off…

over

&

over

&

over

–realizing

(too late)

it was

over.

Over for Butter,

Butter melted down

–a stain where

promise once dwelt…

–a greasespot

before

her time.

she was

. . .

agro’cultured.

All about enemy

turf

and bad with geography–

she was

. . .

spit-polished.

Pinkie extended

after Bronx raspberry,

she seemed

. . .

refined.

Like high fructose

corn syrup

–cloying–

but

addictive.

Finding I said nothing

right

. . .

I also found

I had nothing

left

(to say)

either.

With yarns

–and 2 pens–

I knit a cover

(story)

–writ 1, girl who–

wove a golden weave.

some pearl,

some pattern,

some patchwork

the killer quill’t

I fashioned

failed

to blank-it

chill within

–but certainly let it out–

which was fine

(if not fuzzy)

because

whipped flat

it spread

. . .

lying smooth enough

with are-me corners

(draped with protective paper)

and strategically arranged cushions

disguising dropped stitches

–and most laughing matter, besides.

yet duvet dossier

scratched the wrong itch,

tickled the odd bone,

divulged secrets better kept &

created brimming basket of yarns

that just looked messy

////////////////

after all

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

–hardly

the Sunday funnies

you lounge around

to read.