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Irving MacPherson
Poems
Jun 2014
Working Title
From the tips
of her fingers
To the heel
of her soul,
One greedy woman.
She asks:
"Teach me how to
dance on graves,
Show me my insides out,
Preach to me of the ungodly.."
" I will not" I said.
"Look to another, I am
unavailable.
You would have me
be Sisyphus while you
take the Queen's throne."
Inviting all to ponder
as you wear only a thong,
your ******* slightly hidden in the shadow....
Your hiss is threadbare,
just audible to those
in spitting range.
All is not
welcoming
with me,
I was once blind
to your level of fuckery.
No more says the man
that guides the boy within.
I have grown
on the shoulders
of what I once was.
To me
your voice
is the sound
of two cats fighting.
What right do I have
to dance on the dead,
let alone show you.
Written by
Irving MacPherson
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