Dance, fool, dance

Jesus, the old lover whispers as I piss red,
Parting the red seen in the cistern,
And with his, I smell an editor’s disgust,
As I compose for that nice rot of fancy and glamor.
Dance, fool, dance.
And for good times, dance.
When the stove is cold,
Long shall the fool dance,
Long shall the cigarette behave,
Long shall the checks bounce.
Long shall the pregnancies scare,
The STIs flare,
Wallet condoms from wear,
Mama beware,
There are fall guys in hell for even duller sins.
And the church shall say,

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s