Bitter and better

hands frozen splatter

dancing while the world watches

shimmy off their rockets

skimming marbled surfaces

and falling into pits of

pretty red haired young men.

Bitter and better

try sulking in a corner while

the pitiless fruits rot to the stem

and ****** trees collapse with

their leaves falling straight into

a pile of complete disarray.

Bitter and better it's been lately

bringing growls for empty stomachs gone crazy

while wrinkles in young

smooth skin crease around

the edges creating a sort of

dimple or smile line that's

indecent and secret and

sort of sublime.

Taketh the weapon's
Out of the young
Poor man's hand's;

And replace the gun
In the palm's
Of the old, rich beastly men;

Send the young boy's
Home
Who art but eighteen;

Let the greedy
Fight their own war
For their oil, gold, and papery green.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry