Feeding Off the Weary
Feeding off the weary
Castor oil concubines in deep hip hugger moons
Shouting to the vestibule in torrents filled with rage
Voices shriek in rampant screams, off key to every tune
Changing up a photograph that sits along the stage
Feeding off the weary as they take their morning tea
Crushing every crumpet so the crumbs collect the floor
Holding up their heads in shame for they no longer see
Flagging down the waiter just to get a little more
Hit below the beltline made of polyester fill
Break the rules on purpose so the multitudes will find
Mops now wait the drool appearing nightly in the spill
No one really cares at all what stagnates in your mind
Here’s a tip to fill your needs with eyes a squinting mess
Take this color you declare in blackened tinted hues
Paint the wall that’s just outside in all that you profess
Other’s now will take your blows as early payment dues
Find the poor in gutters strewn with all that you believe
In cauliflower camouflage beyond your garden gate
Laugh behind the foolish ones who linger lost and grieve
Fill your pockets with their fear before it is too late
Dress up for the evening in your Sunday morning wear
Push away the people dancing slowly on display
Board a train to someplace where another just may care
Wave goodbye to all of us as you go on your way
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
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