Relish in sirony, sad-irony.
For a second there I pictured you post-natal.
You were sitting on a mirror counting the orbital breaths of your cuff.
How smooth the texture was on that very first Sabbath.
When it turned from blue to red and you had the faded letters B.U.R.D.E.N. inscribed on your brow line with magnum ink.
It was challenging to look at you and not think of the Sour Christ.
And I'm pretty pedestrian when it comes to social enterprise.
But I must say after all, it was pretty renegade of you to tilt your eggs.
No comments:
Post a Comment