THE MACULATE CONCESSION

 

How does it feel to be dealt a hand full of sardines and rusty nails? 

Pinch yourself you might find that you hate the way you feel. 

Frosted shoulder shoves your teeth into crooked interruption.

Loop the handshake in reverse til we forget our introduction.

Leaves falling like elevators, confetti the political desanguination.

Your mouth is spitting bitter snow but everybody's changed the station.

Scrape off the tears of rage and cultivate a garden of attrition.

Feed the beast of kindness and pray it don't die of malnutrition.

You think when the dust settles you'll ascend to the upper crust.

But when all is dotted and crossed you'll only be left with dust.

Elevator filled with fallen leaves, crisply blanket the fallow field.

Throwing punches yards from the mark, it doesn't matter if you yield.