and maybe it's for the game-players
and the sin droppers,
the shattered blokes digging into dreams
like graves, playing like a dirty devil
with the tender hearts of wilds tamed.
you fellows with your flock of
fickle-eyed and fancied harm,
like it matters to us in the end,
wearing charming like you're bearing arms.
you always leave us when we trust it,
like the little naive fools we are,
just when you thought it safe to bust it,
we're closing legs like you're folding cards.


just the toys for the boys
with a hot-blooded need
sewing seeds and filling feeds
for us with too much pride to plead.

10/03/2007

Posted on 10/03/2007
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