That guy’s a no good pimp
He’s got no weapon or guts
She’s like a butterfly
In a jar
Tempered like hot steal
Hardened by a starless night
She needs to be found

Not enough holes in the lid
That pimp’s gonna get cut
She’s wanting to get free
Wants to run wants to strut
She cuts herself deep
Never seems to bleed
Has to fight to breathe

The girls on the street know
Her name is Sweetness
Glass not thick enough to hold
Her clock is ticking
With blade in silent stocking
Heels clack down the street

Pimp sees nothing coming
Ninety seven pounds of hate
Push a singing blade through
Two goal tended ribs
And heart screams obscenities
At pimp body and mind

Sweetness calmly walks
Away and free
For another day

from Fat Poet Dies in Grain Elevator Accident & Other Poems


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