there’s a broken woman

there’s a broken woman in my kitchen
demanding immediate entrance to sanity
without coherence or humility
daring all of us with brash news
and strange tales of futility

it’s just another day
who are we to tell the difference
between narcistic protuberance
and dark desires intent to rule
with fear and intimidation

there is a kind of solitude
or perhaps it is a kind of waiting
in the lonely tides of told time
folding ordinary realities
into small bundles of forgetfulness

sedimentary rivers of no disdain
retains a certain kind of tellable truism
hand carved and sold for pittance
on markets undone and gone
before the selling of the she male

leave no matter unturned
let no darkness dictate
the moments you have
there is no point
in being nice to the malicious

Poetry by Bob
Read 264 times
Written on 2017-04-19 at 20:34

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Last two lines- very well said. I agree.

You've caught her very well. Please let her in...tell us the next episode.