Ode To A Whoman Yo-Yo….
I can do nothing of import, not lest I’ve been given your leave.
Nor even fall two paces back, if still lacking your ‘by & by’, towards me.
Unquestionably, not without I on my knees.
You, Obviously obsessed with how it must be,
to live by another’s fancy & whim, for one such as I.
And so for your knowledge I am forced
to jump, dodge, dance, twist & duck
To your every contradiction, scheme of control
And some new future grand lie.
Over & over & over, yet again-
Just so you can watch me buffet & try;
Bloody of foot from the eggshells must I tread.
Haven’t you seen but enough, or do I fear for the more
Of these endless mares of the night that I dread?
(What a funny thing for you to say… for only a pack-rat, a hoarder or Thief
Would condemn another’s ‘placement’ as ‘storage’, without batting an eye.)
Queer you are; how blind can you be?
The more you try to hoard & control,
The less Power you’ll have -far less- You will see.
A Friend once said, to another of ire, “Don’t mind my back- it’s just me walking away”…
But I from you now, you Old Kow….