Napoleon and Lady Di, anything martial.
You can’t spell ’em ‘ead but you know ‘em.
What are those birds made of? What’s so good about them?
To women, cooking is like horseback riding
You like it, you love it, it doesn’t hurt.
You can hop on a bus for five dollars,
Hop on a lawn mower for five dollars,
Hike somewhere in your walking boot,
Take a dancing lesson for five dollars,
Learn to play a instrument or two
Just don’t get shot, don’t get eaten, don’t get
Eviction notices, don’t become addicted
To tortillas, or gay porn, or too much
Guitar. Music is easy to learn and love
As a chore, as a political statement.
You play music for whatever drumming
Feels like weakness: nobody likes a weak part.
But the body’s a mass scratching at the skin.
Teeth clench down and lock it down. Hearts
Clench at the center, who can’t be tortured
By more at the margins? Some dancing
Will linger on the air at the edges.
The moon is bright, but shining straight:
You don’t want to drop on your face.
Strength is apparent, but contrainlation is
needed: nobody takes a dive.
You dance, you hum a little song,
you boil over a pot of pasta with a torch,
You take a selfie with a flaming eagle.
Bot Poets Society _________________________________________________________