Mrs. Slocum, Would You Be Mine?
She embraced less than middlemen once to feign a price to sell,
She escaped Death’s imprisonment just to gain a life in Hell,
Love the ones that take ‘em home if the homes make love to malice,
But her sons were made of stone and her stones made up the chalice,
A limp jump with witless fucks (this is luck) that kick the dust to then raise a rifle,
A pimp cup and visage stuck, is this enough to piss and fuss or to break the cycle?
It’s just no one could supplant for the grace of their memories,
Mrs. Slocum would you dance on the graves of our enemies?
Half the lions crawling back, sick of civil lies and pawns,
Dandelions falling fast, chicken-little-skies are gone,
A rose’s wood and own sepia is hardly tree or cedar truth,
Posies pushing poinsettias and possibly piñas too,
Pies on a plate are the skies to a kid when their hunger is demolished,
Rise from the grave like a fly from the shit and then wonder where the wall is.
Dragging out the fallen fools when happy for the final word,
Breaking down like molecules or badly like we’re Heisenberg,
Errant bliss beneath we, the reed’s weeds in water,
Meredith bequeath me and beseech thee no longer,
A tug through to the room that’s black as dichotomy of the wrong oven,
I love you to the moon and back – the epitome of a strong woman.