It’ll never be take ten again – a word poem by Joe Crosby
A word poem by Joe Crosby
Prophets, profits, little miss muffits, eating her birds of prey. When down sat beside her an enormous insider threatening to take her away. She looked in her pocket and pulled out a locket that told her her fortune was to stay. But the insider did spy on her. Said he wanted to hire her. In a way that she thought was too creepy to say.
She pulled at his thumbs. Quoted Newton’s sums, and said his business was nothing but the planning of fools! It ain’t cool.
She told him: “Quit looking uptight. Unless you’re looking for a fight, and remember that everybody else is fighting a hard fight, too!”
Prophets, profits, little miss muffits, the Knowles knows, the bling keeps growing and sorrow is growing, now officially described in positive ways. Misery is unreal, but a medical condition, an untimely premonition of cold, dark lonely days. But the insider is inside her eating her away. Breathe and breathe deeply.