It's not my fault
that this is screwed.
Who said that? Did God?
Or some cosmic clockmaker
tinkering and trying to
make sense of Time?
An adept chiropractor,
perhaps, tweaking and
adjusting the spine of
the Book of Life? Some
oily sex deviant serial-
yanking at labia, growling
"screw you, screw you, screw
you." ?
Perchance to scheme, a
fat mouthpiece letting "slut"
rush over thick air, hissing
". . . no, you are the
reason this is screwed, so
now let us watch you screw." ?
Without a dream, a
bullied boy wondering why
Mr. Fix-It looked the other
way...
or Mr. Fix-It throwing in
the wrench and heading home
to a misty cocktail and fog ?
MLydiaM ~ March 2012
Written for The Mag, that inspired with the above photo prompt (image: Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison)
Post Update: I deleted the final stanza, which I admittedly added for my own amusement and served to confuse nearly everyone else(!). I thank my fine and creative friend, Doctor FTSE, for communicating with me about it and for providing the advice that I ultimately went with.
.
