i'll be damned if he hasn't
put her on that pedastal again!
she hates it there
i know by the way she
crisps & curls
there's too much sun
& he knocks her off
once or twice a week
(at least)
she's lost so much dirt
her roots are beginning to show
she HATES it there
(i know)
so i think i'll steal her
snatch her
from that high place
& plant her outside
nice & low
underneath my window
she'll suck up decay
from the dirt
& sip all she wants
from the gutter
plump & purple
moist & mature
she'll grow
right beneath my window
& one day soon
after i've added enough whisky
to my coffee
so i can dream
again
i'll rest my head on the sill
& hear the violets
growl:
don't touch me
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