Thursday, December 29, 2011

Sonnet XXIII - Does "dance" rhyme with "pants"?

I am burnt by the dark furies of Hell,
For Madame must accept reality.
I have no phony stories left to tell,
And reluctant come to sobriety.
The fantasies are flattened without air,
And comforting ritual has been killed.
No point to wearing paint or dying hair,
My dreams of Love and riches won’t be filled.
But free I am with nothing holding me,
Uncensored words are waiting for my hand.
I know it’s a responsibility,
A woman handles best when she’s unmanned.
Come with me friends, and do a merry dance,
And maybe have a laugh and drop our pants.

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