if my life were a bullseye. . . and your words a 44 magnum. . . your smoking fork'd tongue would be "Exhibit A" in the court of compassionate law. . . and "Exhibit B" would be the blood-stain'd schrapnel...that the Lover of My Soul harvest'd. . . from my chest cavity that you ripp'd. . . multilat'd beyond recognition. . .

if my feelings were rare porcelain china...and your eyes pack'd the power of a bull elephant on a rampage, as if a mouse were crawling up its nostril. . . even the humane society would think it best to shoot first. . . then fill out the forms after cocktails.

if my dearest friends were from Serbia, or Juarez, or if they frequent'd the back alleys of sin city. . . and had babies by men they did not know...but the money from the brief blow job paid the bills. . .and they heard the name "Jesus" . . . you would be the church bus. . . passing by the church house....and drive them straight to hell.