Joined to his guilt by bonds of matrimony

By | 14 December 2009

Joined to his guilt by bonds of matrimony
with a dog he called homily he left for the 24 hour vets
But he could still reclaim the black open road
Any time he cared to. Yet, these sweats,
and cheap dates with the lonely trees
the one night stand, that f$%#@*& vet nurse with Tourettes!
the wand and schedule of tides.
He needed to stay grounded, to focus
twin rings of compromised gold
a tarnished infinity
and trust wintered into dead leaves.
He fingered the gilt band
mindful it was choking, imprisoning his intrinsic self
but snug too, a fatal perfect fit
this mated pair of mismatched offal
discordant heart beats, this duo of fools bound by bonds tighter than rules
he turned to the band and “Up the fucking tempo boys!”
he asked politely
and the little dog barked
just for fun. Meanwhile,
Jesus has gone on strike – his crucifix in tow
And the golden band looks more and more like a collar.
“Does that chafe?” the vet asked, sympathetically.
And for a brief moment, he was young again.

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