Oh sister scatter-brain, re-arranging your facade scandalizes no one.
But your photos of father with the gun,
just for fun we'd pretend he just wanted more friends.
Truth telling, he just wanted Ma to fuck he more often,
until she called herself Miss Dawson and got an afro.
And I hope she knows when she'd scarify each one of her eyes,
I was forced to optimize with the drink and the knife,
stumbling deep into my second life.

Mister-Monetarism's eyes sigh over her whole.
But his weakness is in her soles and his lips pressed to the arch.
He lost his medium of expense somewhere between the small and the smaller.
Likewise, Miss Misery popped a son named Mockery and doctors know,
no meiosis to create such distingushed neurosis.
Skull shaped, the boy gaped from the piacular wormy wound, held, stitched and sketched, by twin pillars, wizened and trembling.