Poetry

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The Pavement of the Proprietress

Skip to the Loo my Darling



Your version of written words I read in twenty-five minutes and when done I swiftly wiped my big ass with it. Pearly white pig in a blanket. Canadian bacon stuffed with senseless shit…fck you…coming straight from asalamulakum.

You a wilted flower in the attic…pale and thin…white skin is how you got in. That’s how you fake ’em. You pinching, and your bones are showing…stealing cause you starving must be a hell of a habit for the malnourished when growing.

Skip to the loo. Skip to the loo where I flush you. Skip to the loo my darling. Skip to the loo where I flush you. Skip to the loo. Skip to the loo where I flush you. Skip to the loo…when done, your repulsive stench is all that’s left of you.

Skip to the loo. Skip to the loo where I flush you. Skip to the loo my darling. Skip to the loo where I flush you.

Madam Midwest



Dark Mask


You think I’m drunk because I drink. Simple minded fools…those of you, who’re even more dumb when you begin to think. You think I hide behind a mask because I don’t have beauty. I’m beautiful to me. Don’t matter what your opinions be. But in all actuality, flesh-covered devils…jezebel’s children were head-hunting me…they came persecuting. I stepped behind this mask not out of sport, or cowardliness, no not because I think it’s cool, just something to do–no apparent reason, as it is for some poetical pissed-privileged fools. But a mask isn’t the only way to identify me. I have traits that distinguishes me. I wear this mask like our Heavenly Father did…his Mask is Light…His brilliance illuminates ohhhh, so bright…His back to Moses He offered to him just to keep his life. Mask.

Madam Midwest

Rated Ramsey

I saw that she was a naughty girl

She learned that I was a nasty man

I placed my mouth on her lips

She hid her breast inside my hand

She learned I was a man of acuity

I saw that she could rock my world

I promised her we would speak again

She lied to her spouse that we ever did

Ramsey

I saw all she had envisioned inside her head. She blamed me for the sweat…saturated sheets. I blamed her for the mess…no mistaken is wasn’t me

Ramsey


I wasn’t half the man she thought I was….nothing like the pheasant she believed me to be. I am more and she showed me after breakfast: orange juice, eggs, toast….Colombian coffee, a quick smoke. I am more than she’d ever imagined.

Ramsey



She was the nun. I was the Sheriff. She was the maid. I was the Heir.

She was the prostitute. I was the priest. All these characters we played under

the sheets.

Ramsey

“Stick ’em up, bitch!”

This is a hold up

But it’s nooo robbery

And when finished

She fell madly in love with me

Ramsey

“Life is an Orgy.” Ramsey



The Poetess Block

Blend

Though he be a man ho just like

Lothario…even so…I can’t stop

loving the Mulatto.

Madam Sister



Anonymous is a song that is heard through silence

An expression as vivid as the toiling of flowers on

a windy day…and when it rains it is a shelter and

who can decipher through the tears. Hear me with

closed lips. For I am speaking what I am thinking.

Even as I breathe…you know what I’m thinking.

Madam Sister



Crap Out

She be just a few dots short on the dice and these men be shakin ’em. They be shakin ’em. A crap gamer…no one really remembers her name…her numbers offer no gain. She’s thrown around yet she doesn’t understand why she never wins.

The seven nor eleven, no they don’t ever befriend. She’s a crap gamer…she shouldn’t trust these particular type of men…they good for shakin ’em…them dice they just be shakin ’em. Yet there’s always one who debases her numbers, they are without traces…once again she loses…and she don’t even remember their faces.

She’s been shook…numbers and names without traces…she don’t even remember their faces.

Madam Sister