Sunday, August 29, 2010

A Poem for My Dearest

Armageddon is closing in,
maybe it won’t hurt so bad
yesterday the news said the situation was win-win
man this feels like a fad

I’m hearing it everywhere
tens of thousands all say the same
toonies, loonies to pay a cab fare
only the side affects are what we’re going to blame

nobody will have anything left
your money will be all gone
of course you’ll blame it on theft
unless of course you are a moron

more than likely you dumb-ass bitch
outgoing and pretty,
no you’re just a fucking witch
ever go to that restaurant owned by Smitty?

you would, cause you can, and you have the funds
harnessing the power of the dollar
uncle Sam has you thinking you’ll run
nationally for something that’ll make you much taller

growing, bigger and bigger your purse will grow
reproducing children, you pop out three
you can surely afford it
what can you do beside listen to me?

house made of clay, food made of scraps
outside burning to death in the land of no maps
really, this was mean … but true.
except for the part where I love you.

-Rois

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