I Don’t Put A Price On Hate

As I cut out the buttons

You had stitched to my vest

With the scissors of a Swiss-army-knife.


Then I throw them away

Along with the Kashmir scarf

You gave me after I teased about the weather.


I sift through a suit case

And find a hemp bracelet

That you’d made for me so long ago.


I fold and twist it to a wick

And light it with anticipation

Because I then use it to brighten-up a Lucky.


I toss the bracelet in the tray

And let it burn through and through

While I wonder where the moon had gone.


Back in the suit case

I find a box with my name

Written the way you used to do.


It was full of pictures

Which cost more than I remember

Because you insisted on every size and frame.


Of course I gave in,

Your kisses struck like sweet lightning

And your hips swung like an insane fire-whirl.


But the storm had passed,

All that was left was debris

And I threw the pictures away.


I get up, get out

And walk on down

The block in hopes it’s not too late.


I walk in, walk about

Till I find that familiar looking wall

I stare at like I’m looking out through prison bars.


That sweet bourbon

Finally looked as good

As your legs sticking out of that red skirt.


I don’t put a price on hate

But the corner store sure does:



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