I confess I still don't know
what to make of you
taking something so right, real and true
to trash so destructively down the philopian tube
which is much more a sacrilege
than eating and running this
casual destruction of emotion
and bond as you flirt with the devil
wearing turquoise hoping to seduce as
fradulent Mary's blue that won't leave you
and can't stop google-eyes that hope to entrap
you, which trap you dance in like a jester in danskins.
Nearly incredulous to believe the refusal to conceive
and instead inspiring something so tempting of
unbelief. Lord, Help my grief. I can't get to sleep tonight.
I thought they said
you were Pro-Life.
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