Jun 5, 2015

Oil

Slick and rich roots yet rotten to the core
life becomes a chore, people become bore
slimy grease, pots and pans put her to work
she digs through the dirt, eats from the grease pit,
calls herself a celibate Queen? Ten minute showers,
babies screaming for mercy, sirens whining.
Today that's what she knows, tonight that's what she gets.
She oils away the harsh terrain of a dry mind,
her popping bones. A bitter heart listens for the gospel,
attempting to anoint a broken soul among filth.
 "Ma fell on hard times too. " But, there are no excuses
in self pity. when u are pitiful...
As the sun sets, the night flesh crawls from bedbugs.
Maybe shock. Shock from the flat sheets stench. No sex scent ,
just piss and shit in the air. Oil begins to seep, pores coughing
as black, blonde, red and bald heads fall back in torment.
 "The lady with the dust pan said handle oil with care."
 Oil can spill, trip- fall even kill sometime.
 You can never have enough, but, you can always use too much.
 Then you'll drown in the thickness.

By Jhpoetry 2014-2015
all rights reserved by author

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