the poet in me

So another boyfriend has come and gone since I was last here and I have written a poem to commemorate the blessed event. One poem a every couple of years does not make me a poet. so either I have to speed up the broken heart thing or get a new muse:)

the troubadour spit out the scramble of words
frivolously penned from a voice
of the forgotten dreamer
peices of your promises will remain
etched in their infancy
with the abortionists knife...
...hemorrhaging the brutal desire to be loved
the jesus 's were late to the curtain call
caught napping in the wings
and the burial box had left for Albany
the last bell certainly will ring
before the ice will melts and freezes again
Just say it isn't so...just say it isn't so
the blue shift remains in full swing
love just some forgotten thing