Insecticide #3

The beauty of her brightly lit smile,
and the sunken depths of her amalgamated ideology;
I won’t waver,
I won’t despair,

Because out there,
beyond the drums of her dissonance,
is a fluted hope of my deliverance.

Hopes can bury old habits,
although they die hard.

Siphoned sexuality; a coming of a bare
and lonely cosmology;
a pointed stare, where

Violence against God
could be tolerated,
but only momentarily,

Paul said he said
and he did.

Come,
my once and beautiful,
can we drive into the sunset
with the top down and the radio blasting
Tom Petty’s Into the Great Wide Open.

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