(20 minute poetry)

Beat around the bush
no rush
you'll get there
in the end and
eventually
to the mortuary.

Meanwhile we smoke them,
the good and the bad men
it makes no difference to me
to be
the pariah in society.

What use is poetry
to a loser or a man
like me?

They sicken me
pick on me
soon we'll see them
dancing to a different tune
it
can't come soon
enough,

In the meanwhile where the
smile persists
evil exists.

I balance the books
bigots or crooks they're
all the same to me
pariahs in and of
society.

Put your cure or your curse
on the worst of them
they're all men
heading to the mortuary.