Let’s Pretend We’re Divorced

What will become of your injustice and where is my lamb?
Creative outburst or obscenity trial for fun?

Will
Not
Boil

Smart as a box of rocks
And full as a quarry.
Still the same.
Over.
Out.
A communiqué stalled.
A choked ignition.
The way you feel for me
Creates carbon monoxide fumes
That asphyxiate.
Writer not by choice.
The singalong becomes an act of terrorism.

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