She’ll be swingin’ by presently (as it were)
To ceremoniously relieve you of your livelihood.
*(Colloquial: “hatchet.” She’s got one o’ them treadle wheel whetstones in her office and she sits in there charpening ‘er axe all day. We’re like a yard full of Thanksgiving Turkey’s just a waitin’ t’be “harvested.”
. . .No, that sounded like a wet stomp. I think he’s gone.
I only want to think about you
. . .
. . .
And dream about you
And talk about you
And talk to you
You make the whole rest of the world mundane
You’ve turned it all to sludge . . .
You outshine the rest of this crud like hurts my eyes, goddammit!