Pitiless

SATIN dress of resplendent sheen on slippery dance floor. A
CRASH – he’s let her slip from his grasp. Shock? Horror? No,
SMIRKs from some, or sneers – no love lost here from rivals;
SCOFFs and jeers from dumb-minded dolls in cotton frocks.

Tucker Out

SATIN smooth, you seize the seat of
SCOFFers, urge your camp in honied tones to
CRASH and plunder, to mint contempt as money.
SMIRK on; comes the end, soul is forfeit,
and nothing owned.

The Master

CHOCK full of loopy maxims, my mind erodes.
LOOPY as I am, I still gather groupies.
MAXIMS I offer, the groupies grab them, and my words
ERODE their naïve, untutored, lacking-in-history minds.