Blisterbeads and Poppysocks
blisterbeads and poppysocks,
she had 37 locks,on her door down by the park
new york city after dark
she had hair,a weighty sheaf,tied with vines,a maple leaf,
drifted in upon the breeze
late october,'neath the trees
he was thin as silver beams
slicing thru the window seams
where the blinds blinked neon lies
he in love and full of sighs
she descended from the ghouls
feeding on the souls of fools
thought him silly and naive,had a wild card up her sleeve
doused herself in thick perfume
she the bride and he the groom
tred the aisle to paradise,his a virtue,hers a vice
he gave morning glory blooms
blue and purple in her rooms
she gave something with a beak,black and feathered,
cold and sleek
he complied and drank the draft
hearing nothing but her laugh
as he fell into her box
of blisterbeads and poppysocks.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
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