On this sad plate made from hammered gold
Sits a loin of muskrat smothered
Under a thick glaze of
Muscadine jelly
Where purple tint of flowers paints my hand
Slowly descending with silver spoon
Snatching up another morsel
To my craggy old face
Where two thin
Lips await
The tongue shoving languidly around in my mouth
Striving to press every bite of it over
Surfaces where it might taste
Just a little bit Better
For I knew this was going to be the very last repast
Before going out to face the citizens
Turning a big thumbs down
On Jesus Christ who
I knew to be
Innocent
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment