‘m’ starts in the midst
of alphabet’s thick soup.
she rose from her mattress
groggy as a dethroned pope.
I wonder aloud where all the florists
have gone? Gone to gay bars
everyone..
when will they ever fern?
when will they
ever fern?
she sings half asleep and they
turn oh they turn
like chicken on a spit
a fancy rotisserie of revolving
door themes….
when will it ever turn?
when will we ever learn
not to scorch and spatter,
spurn and be spurned?
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