Temple W****s gone WildA Poem by Dale Pavolko
The moon is a guillotine
that severs stars from the sky. Time stumbles along dragging an axe to the end of days. The black forest of love is a moaning choir ruing the rot of ruination. This is not a most solemn hour. This is the hour to cower and run. The w****s of the temple have turned on their master. To avert disaster the master has packed up his gold and chartered a ship. He is doubly determined to give those vengeful w****s the slip. However the night seethes with enchantment. Gleaming green trails of neon mark the passing of w****s on broomsticks. Lighting crackles as w***e hackles rise. A pole dancing w***e flies the red lust of doom sparks from her crazed eyes. She espies the ship at its slip and dips to loose a bolt torn from the rage of her ire. It is pure neon green fire and it burns. Like the molten core of a ripped off w***e it burns. But the master is keen to avert total disaster. Therefore he gives voice to a plea. Do not tell your vengeful sisters instead come flee with me and half of mine is yours. I have a hold stuffed with gold, you see, we could be so happy. Avarice is a wicked thing, a thing of which any w***e might dream. Therefore this w***e gave thought to the masters scheme. She calculated the split, got on the ship, and joined the master, giving her ripped off sisters in sin the slip. © 2011 Dale Pavolko |
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Added on August 14, 2011 Last Updated on August 14, 2011 Author
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