Enough they said
from their twaddle of
insecurities
beaming off the
mantelpieces
one cup then two
like a china collection
her skin
the motives
the incongruities like
mustard and berry
it doesn't matter if
it tastes good
the tongue indolent
and greedy
wanting what it wants
no thought to the
consequences
oh fuck it they said
we're tired of
making sense
we're going after the
sound bites
no calories no chewing
just ironies
the good the bad and
the ugly
you know
the fucking clichés
a congregation of
hail mary's
old bags who make
beautiful music
they boil and whistle
and I run to them
jumping across the
hedge of madness into
something ressembling
poesy
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