The poetry, stories and intrigues of C.J. Brenner

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Meet the crooked monster

His hands were blue
His tie was red
His children say
Listen to what he said

But the coast is clear
He lost his rug
His happiness was an affront
For the villain of the day

So he taxed three banjos
And he closed his camera
And he jailed his mistress
The floor was his sleeve

But we looked away from his hat
And we skipped his foray
He mangles simplicity
And he broke them on his knee

So language forgot his name
And the call never to blame
For acid was on his teeth
A placid for his wreath

The man was a monster

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