Although Madame disappeared
When the lawn whispered
“Dear, Pretty Mouth”
She can still feel the wind in cafés
which never are an egg of stillness for dolls
Eight spoons of cream moves dearly.
There will be more forever.
She, still too gone
For whispers “Oh!” and “Soon!”
The images which float by our eyes uninvited
are the saddest, cruelest stories
Disguised by the absence of melancholy
Taking on the tone of a friend
Wishing to make you sicker
than their solution can cure
“A whispered remark”, might just be the thing!
Yer wan; hairy, bumpy, messy and irresponsible with a sick dishwasher.
No tits and no strapless bra.
None of the products which claim to have invented maternal love
Smelly biology and wrong make-up;
Clumpy mascara and and bleeding gums.
Don’t you wonder why you even try, to do anything right?
But Praise The Lord: your upper lip can be saved.
Thank you, Jesus!
More poems for you to not read!
Sitting still and whispering “Never”.
Momentary stays of confusion,
Not for you any time soon.
Some still, windy mouths leaking
Festooned, suffocated shouts.
Statues pointing the finger.
Puzzles you can do without.