CUT-THROAT

CUT-THROAT

Blindfold me and lead me upwards to the chamber of my doom,
A hanging judge, a swinging noose, a waiting burial tomb.
You will claim this song's too somber to merit a reply,
And lead me to the forest, leave me there to die.
But you are cut-throat, you are vicious, and your bullets lace the sky.

Tie my wrists and tie my ankles oh so very tight,
And swing your noose beneath my neck, the periphery of my sight.
Mock me with your promises and your lies of recompense,
Then slay me like a dragon, oh fond one with your death mints.

You are surly, you are evil, though you wear your coat of fur,
And you surely must remember how you used to sit and purr,
And praise me your lone wordsmith in a land of deaf and dumb,
You are cold and merciless and my blood it coats your tongue.

I cannot swim against your tide, my breast stroke it cannot sustain,
Jab your scissors in my eyes and watch the aqueous humor rain.
Take me underneath your wing, for I cannot speak and I cannot sing.
Shoot your cannon in the air and taunt me with your wheelchair.
I am shuffling, I am lame, I can't remember my own name.
You are callous, you are cut-throat, you're the one to blame.

Tell me I am hateful, tell me I am cruel,
But I cannot any longer stay to be your motley fool,
Blinded by the lessons in your sordid little school,
Sinking in your quicksand, your muddy perilous pool.

Blindfold me and torture me with your chains and with your whips,
Taunt me like a dominatrix with your bloodshot little hips.
You will say I am too somber, but your lips they curl and lie,
You are cut-throat, you are vicious, and your bullets lace the sky.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MAD TEA PARTY

MAD TEA PARTY

Slide down the rabbit hole, blindly believing,
Fall through the looking glass, breathlessly heaving.

Everyone's summoned with great ceremony,
The bones of our forefathers herald our coming.
  
The house of the hangman, the palace of gold,
The price of admission a hollowed out soul.

We will dance on top headstones, rejoice in confusion,
Death the Mad Hatter will serve hemlock tea.

Only the finest leaves he will gather,
Steeped to perfection for eternity.

The Red Queen will don her skin-tight dress,
Her henchmen their tuxedos,
And swarm around the honored guests,
Like armies of mosquitoes.

Evil Alice will curtsy, that malevolent child,
The teapot whistling ominously with mystery and with guile.

We will prance upon the precipice, tumble through time,
Our heads will roll like bowling balls, the end will be sublime.

We will tango with the temptress, from the Reaper score a fix,
And with our boss the Boatman we will navigate the Styx.

Death the great Mad Hatter will serve up hemlock tea,
He'll steep it to perfection for all eternity.

It will be a grand and bitter ball, so kiss this life goodbye,
And down the rabbit hole you go, with one last wistful sigh.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED