Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Queen of France

Poetry: Grapes on the Gripe

I don't think your gonna gripe the grapez outta me,
drop for drop what did you want,

blood of a sainted love on the spell,
one to mimic again on the tell,
-that love-....
was a copy to repeat into again
that we could salvage the world... again and again,

no, it doesn-t work that way
only the acids that forever and kill
are here in me forever still.