Just a trope in your narrative,
A tincture in your soap:
Not a presence to be noticed
Without a microscope.

What’s the scope of your horror or
The horror of your scope?
What’s the worst you could wish for?
Do you think you could cope?

What’s the word at the art school?
What’s your damage? What’s your dope?
Give yourself something to work with:
Give yourself enough rope,

And don’t hope to be able to
Bring it to the table
If you introvert yourself to
Make yourself capable

Of composition. Compare then
He who is culpable
For fabricating a feeling
With she who fakes a fable.

There’s no difference nor indifference
To me discernible;
I’d just as well now try torching
A bridge unburnable.

Birth a baby, call it Burden:
Have a child, call it Hope;
Change your own name to Sacrifice:

Can a man who makes his fortune
Singing songs about pain
His second album to his first’s
Relationship explain?

Had I the wherewithal to wear
Appropriate hats to
Any given event: all being
Well, that would doubtless do.

Appears in:
Mistaken for art or rubbish [2013]


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