The Future Relegation

Love is a cancer,

a chancer,

a smooth talking romancer,

with one hand in your purse

and one hand between your legs.

It’s for the best

to protect

the bit beneath your chest

and say no

to those words

that become unjust words

and actions that become

unjust actions

relegated to the past.

A mere monastery

of temporary memories

and happiness.

It is best to know now

that you will leave me hollow

as you walk out

with a swagger

and one bloodied hand

from the dagger

that you will use

to cut out my insides

and leave me skin and bone

in some dumb old home

with Michael Hurley’s tones

singing a final soliloquy

on the vinyl:

‘Seem like everybody

got a little hard luck sometime

I know one thing for sure, baby:

I been having mine.’

For sure, baby,

you will have had your time.

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