Kick The Mule

kick the mule, then lick the knee

bend the knee to run to pray to plea;

how dim when only she and him

bored of the bearded lady dressed in cauliflower cheese;

too many times their trumpet eyes

play along to the jazz of the junkyard snore

in sleeps of recycled stainless steel

upon the marveled marbled floor;

pretty in the pink of saffron stew

at the dead-end of the throat

the pensive vegan picks the bones from the aphrodisiac

this is where true love truely belongs

when the emptied sack demands it's money back!

mark the cards and deal within the loop

cut fire from this Eden that smokes one crying lung.

let oil be the final breath, just as

the uncertainty paints appease upon the sun.

where painted maggots kiss inside the mould of brioche bun;

this belated suffocation of the cheerful cheek to yawn

each day as much another for this love about the lawn

kick the mule then kiss the blast

in it's armour of the glass

to where we find the sequel to those equal to the task;

and if you had to know my dullest fantasy - all you had to do was ask! -