Mush the saving's grace in
push the lame ones face in
cushions filled with anthrax
cushioned to kill in a tampax
ushered in by the new wave
punish him as the glue fades
huffing alone with a brown bag
died on his on now the ground sags
cried in the home of a wet nurse
confided in her as the milk squirts
pride on the range where the goats are
ride through the flames on the coaster
mind in the creek with the misfits
find them knee deep in like six kids
wounded my pride with your last words
thorn in my side as I passed her

02/28/2019