Cinderella would dance like a vagrant
around the circled combustion of a
dangling verb, left like sausage
drying in the sun.
I might notice.
I might not.
I might even slip a tongue
over the flip-flop
tabernacle of sham.
"Fuddle-duddle" the legend intoned,
a very many years ago.
With lambent tenacity
the bored princess will
flick a wrist and suppress a yawn.
One and one is two, but two and two
becomes a matter of judgement.
I might care.
I might not.
I might even use a chorus
of disembodied arrogance.
Leasing the flagrant dimness
until it gleams like
a undressed wh*re in the snow.
Shoulders back, arms wide,
marching parasites collect like
rabbits getting skinned.
I might attend.
I might not.
I might demolish every
whisper ever rumoured.
).setAttribute('href','//poetrypoem.com/cgi-bin/index.pl?sitename=poet5170&item=home');document['poetimage'].height='45';document['poetimage'].src='//poetrypoem.com/photos/poets/poet5170-button.jpg';;WriteLayer('ptitle',null,'HILLSBOROUGH DISASTER');WriteLayer('ppoem',null,'HILLSBOROUGH DISASTER The verdict came back and justice was done 27 year<a href="//poetrypoem.com/cgi-bin/index.pl?poemnumber=1350026&displaypoem=t&sitename=poet5170&item=poetry" target="_top" style="text-decoration:none;"><font style="color: #18397C;font: 900 12px times;"> ... More</font></a>');WriteLayer('poetinfocus',null,'poet5170');WriteLayer('pdate',null,'2024-04-15')){kind=small}
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