Her Bright Eyes Tell Men Lies
_The longest road to nowhere is not a distance travelled,
But a speculation on hopeless amounts of flesh,
Under garments torn in heat of passion_unfastened, ripped
_And her bright eyes told men lies_
Catch note of lusty thinking in her steamy alibies_
Omissions how she tells a story_ She left me crumpled like her panties-panting-purgatory
As a foot note to her foot upon my spine.
“I don’t need you, you need me.”
“Don’t think I can set you free, you are my poem spouting puppy,
And now you are performing;
Exclusively for me.
And your art charade of unrequited lusty love or misadventure_
Beats out for my attention_ more persuasively than all the violence and soap operas on Amerikan TV.”
What made this Dvotchka such a G? Will I dash my best intentions on the violent rocks of her siren’s symphony?
Her words once free from Stoli’s demons are always formed and fully chosen.
The body of my work was once made a sullen corpse.
A derelict and body frozen.
Bleak times had befallen me,
I had been fully stripped of all my honor and my human dignity,
And the vultures flying far ’bout my corpse were blotting out the sun,
She sought my solace via seperation_
Of the bullets from the chamber, of my mostly self destructive, less than lethal gun.
And then from what I must assume,
She laid her hands upon my corpse and undertook reanimation_
And the cold dead corpse did come alive and danced across the room.
Frosts are setting in_
Ice now coats the biggest apple;
Baptize me now in bath tub gin;
And exercise these wicked spirits that sing;
Vodka soda lullabies,
And pander to the shift work differential of ego driven battle cries.
It’s no post-modern Cold War thrill!
There are weapons-and these weapons aim exclusively to kill.
The full intention of her will_is to obliterate,
And set on fire as many of our feelings as we can.
There will be no perestroika of my conscience or a glasnost of her heart_
She has not a single double standard she won’t utilize and put upon to thwart the worst intentions of a man.
No Dvotcka over us held so much power!
Zeus himself came to come_to take her flower.
And she cracked the neck of his transfigured rapist swan.
In the form of a banker or of trader.
Or accountant tax evader,
My response; I ought evade her,
Undergo a series of cold showers and get gone.
This is not a competion,
That’s a woman! Not a prize,
A predator who in prim palaver pulsates promiscuity,
Under even handed guize.
The best of masclinity, will crumble before conquest_affront their inginuity and she will take them by surprise.
“You’ve made a goddess out of me! You extoll my slightest movement,
Into a some Brighton Boardwalk Odyessy,
And I can’t trade the car I’m utilizing for a verile half mad horse,
To get to where I’m going I have shed my sentiment and surely if it’s needed_ All of my remorse.
I could lick you, I could kick you, I could leave you in the snow for dead,
As you lose yourself forever in words I’ve never even said.”
There are rules my friend,
And if one doesn’t opt for game and sport you ought cash out_before a grim retort will set the revolvers spinning barrel against you at the recieiving end.
Don’t be hasty in your conduct, the cards of your emotions you have laid already on the table fully plain,
If her bright eyes told men lies, and she desists from incriminating, slick replies.
Know she has maintained herself besides you in her efforts to absolve you of your pain.
And there are many lives to live,
And if your life you seek to give,
Beware a quick draw shoot out with an un-loaded gun, be careful with your promises
Or the wrath you may incur.
She’s happy just to work you. To make you work so hard, so make an honest woman out of her.