Think On

Maureen Scott



I'm afraid they dealt
with drugs and knives,
I just shut my door
and cried.

So I'm a dog in my own house,
kicked out of my own kitchen,
freezing, bu him who is warm
and is saving.

He offered me,
but didn't deliver a thing.
Another moves in!

Nine till five is a joke song.
No dealing with this, 
it is disgusting.

Her Maharishi is on death row,
and about time too.
He's up for the fry.

Anyone who is stupid
enough to believe,
and offer money,

is fit material to be
taken for a ride.
No insurance policy.

Someday, sometime,
call it in, religion,
with its dog woman,

whore, blood clot, sore.
How noble is the voice
of religion when it is crossed,

kicking at my door.
You never existed
in my reality.

If there was any chance
of a spark I would
have caught it,

but it didn't exist.
For all of your love
theory and chakras,

you passed before me
without a single memory.
It was just some crap

foreplay you tried on me,
as empty as an advertisement
for something we don't

need ordinarily.
Foodbye crap, but stand firm
against too many offers

in the night to reconciliate.


E-mail Maureen


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