saint b.
~
saint b. has gone missing
lots of reasons
why that might be, all good reasons
but i keep reaching
for her, like a lost saint christopher medal
from my neck, it is habitual
it is also a need, maybe an addiction
no, a dependency, a tolerance
saint b. smooths
my ruffled feathers like no other
listens when no one else will
laughs at my jokes
forgives me for my wicked ways
sometimes scolds me
a taste of the lash
does me good, keeps me honest
god soothes saint b.'s feathers
not god on high
that does not work for her, rightly so
given the circs
and not a mortal god, rightly so . . .
her god is an ideal
much like a plaster jesus
among the shrine atop the dresser
much like
but not like, give her more credit
than that
more like a musican
paying homage to the chromatic scale
or a mathematician
to the, oh, i wouldn't know what
but something akin
she is a living saint, not as
appreciated as mother theresa, but as kind
and i've said kindness
goes a long way with me, missing her
is a weakness
it goes right back to the habitual reaching
i can do without her
but i don't want to
~
Poetry by one trick pony
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Written on 2015-07-26 at 14:53
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