Keeping their daughter’s on their sides
Her mind stands still – ink-instilled only lathered in the thesaurus’s seen-to-be poison
The properly suited Rosemary attire and her candescent man shall, can wait, for so long as it cannot ever even take – to set these imperfect people from the pardoning, hand-locked pretenders
Plagiarised into almighty bouts of twelve-round, wrought-iron forgiveness / handsomely sets himself, herself, feminine aspect apart
Have a meandering heart, please, just that it will not bother to bring itself back to any kind of an idealistic, high-wired, highfalutin life anymore
Miserly inner-ward inconsistent insistences of theirs/people with sweat-stained derrieres and nothing else but for impersonal discrepancies
Herein they still sit, like playful juveniles put upon contriving, conniving fire – all, all, all radiant eyes riotously arising and mixed-up within colonising, consoling emoticons of chosen self-adultery
There is a word for this kind of thing only it isn’t in the bondings, the blind bindings
Of their self-implied, -amplified dictionaries…
Because rest-reassured, this is the millennial century of governmental choosings, all-abusing the other person’s thirsty keyboard-warrior, promiscuity-fed instincts
Thirsty and believing in honourably disbelieving, excruciatingly, barely breathing as though it were of any real meaning
If only he should have chosen for himself to write the last letter home to himself this time
Before his mind took itself off to the other side – vainly fighting with these make-believe people
When he asked for her hand only she gave him the whole of her pixellated soul
Remotely controlled
And lathered in the world’s word-sworn ghosts of poison-faced poets
