Love is a party to
which you are not
invited

Ah well, two or
even three steps
short of hate, good
enough, you are
the waitress of his
cold served fate
(eat it, I
insist)

You, ****, have
convinced the one
who hates you most
that in the absence of love
well, here is your ghost

Warm, right holes
right temperature

Oooh lah lah

You cannot go past
those red velvet ropes
the ones meant for v.i.p.s
and certainly not for you
to pass through

Love exits each time
you enter

Love is a party, dear
but not a costumed event
you stake your **** hole
of a mouth as a declaration
of love, you stake your
freakish circus tent

Ten years, count 'em
a few more, count 'em
your sort of love is a war
of attrition

(****, ****, ****
you blinded ***-faced
bug)

Veni, vidi, vucci
go to hell you
slug

Thus wokout sayeth
the sooth

And we kniw
meent

** rise in
rocks n lines

raint by rays
unknowin

ha this sun
brite

fits in
your tiny
happiness
jar

We play dress-ups and
you are the monster
while I am the queen
I wear a pretty dress
mascara, lipstick
the whole ******
thing
And you hide under
the bed

You are too terrible
to be seen

You are the reason
children take a running
leap from the door
to the bed and
over the floor
(lest something awful
grab their ankles and
shake the muffled
shrieks from them
no, no, no (no
okay... yes)

We play dress-ups
have smokes between
acts, mommies and
aunties and all pretty
women smoke lovely
cigarettes

(you, stay under the
bed)

I think she was there
the entire time, watching
my thighs, shins, ankles
feet disappear each
night and
I should've heard
it breathing, her
under his side
of the bed
while he was ******* me
he was ******* her
in her head

Let's play dress-ups
let's pretend he is the man
and you are the woman
in his demented scheme

(I imagine her mouth full
of his kind of love, something
dreadful indeed

anything to accommodate
his seething hate)

Open wide and she is
full as a balloon on a Sunday
afternoon birthday party
in June, pretty dresses
and ugly, dead
inside

Let's play dress-ups
I am the queen and you

You are that infernal machine
called hate

Of course there was- "There was an error
in posting. Please try again."

One and one and (that thing
behind your back) makes me
minus two or even sometimes
three
You times ten then half
the negation of five cats
one ******* itself half
to death and one
buried in the yard
under the Buddha and
the one who said NO
THANK YOU does
not equal we
Last year does not
equal next year
no matter how many
beets push through
the dirt especially
when Miss Invitation
to Death bashes the crap
out of everything with
the back of a shovel
(nope, nowhere near)
making quick work
of me with nine tenths
left behind (not on
purpose and none
of it rhymes (not on
purpose plus one tenth
of the part of you that
is good does not equal
Should or Would or
even Could) none
of it, not me not
you and If stands
for Infinity, not ours
someone else's
(******* times four
equals another *****
banging on her knees
knock knock not me
10,000 times goodbye
is why I left the keys)

My heart is a bassoon
once I've tackled it
to the ground, oboe
in my good hand
As a battering ram
A morning star
A mace
A flail

Nary more a tune

My heart is a bassoon!
got it now? It waits
to fill up every room

"Water always finds
It's own level" or so they
say and if my heart were
full of water I wouldn't
have a clue what they
mean by that anyway

My heart is a *******
bassoon and if I were to
put it in the bath it would
ruin it