Sliced Her Like a Knife Slice
The Story:
ragged faded
lady hoarder,
dumpster-diving
diva boarder,
dancin' to the tune
of her Dandelion Wine.
milky-eyed maiden,
peddles paper posies,
masticating carnivore,
toothless, useless whore.
not on her best night!
not anymore!
acclimated alleyways,
rodents without fear,
muddle-minded Faustian ,
soul redeeming martyr -
thirty-seventh year.
The Memories:
broken boned beauty
forged in her mind,
conscientious duty
lost to time.
could have been
a skater,
rockefeller rink,
sooner came later,
locked and loaded link.
pride of Arizona,
class of sixty-one,
a devotee of luna,
loves her remy rum.
many bitter winters,
bitter winter winds,
sliced her like a knife slice,
bled her bone thin.
The Story:
gave away her gravity,
east L.A.
weighted down reality
roles she plays.
saddle-strapped sad hag
gone insane,
never gonna' lose
'cause she's never in the game.
always aware where the
light lays low to the ground
livin' in a clap-trap
jingle-jangle town.
runs for the shade
when the sun goes down;
safety in crazy,
crazy shades and shadow
hides her braided hair
and her Royal golden crown.
salts of lithium
took away her name;
doesn't even know
who the hell to blame.
wants to be codified,
once and for all,
as prophets once prophesied -
another Jackie O.
with her hag-bag shop rags
ready to go.
time is always lazy for a lady goin' crazy!!
midnight, brain-drain, middle of the boulevard,
ragged lady bag-hag screamin' out her rage.
The Lady Speaks:
HEY YOU!
up there with your pixilated palindromes,
sippin' fresh-dipped sewer juice
and french champagne - you blue-blooded, high-borns,
listen to the tale that I wail at you.
i'm a sack-cloth, busted, shackled crusted scab,
gonococcal wet-brain - slippin' on the ledge
of pain on pain, while livin' on the edge
in the whorin' pourin' rain. God died, I cried,
now i'm lookin' for some gain.
leave your flush plush penthouse high-flying life;
see your bleeding sister, see your bleeding wife.
that's right, once a wife, mother to your kids.
your kids are gettin' shifty, siftin' on the street;
private school, brittle-veined, maggot-tagged gods,
waitin' for the reaper with the universal odds.
i'm brain-drained, insane, dissipated plain,
a bucket full of truth even Jesus wouldn't claim!
so crucify your comfort, your gentrified name,
then bring it to the street, *****, let me see your shame.
Copyright © Tom Mcmurray | Year Posted 2011
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