by Scarlett de Courcier

Created on: January 21, 2009

An apple a day keeps the doctor away

The number thirteen is unlucky , they say

But what do they know as they kneel, as they pray?

Very little, or so I suspect.

To know one does not is to follow a path

Down which Socrates travelled through Plato's remarks

In a dialogue 'twixt many men playing parts

In a drama we cannot reject.

The orchid expresses a testicle's tresses

He yields to a woman's flosculous caresses

Her petals wilt down as the flower undresses

With a perfume unbottled, unkempt.

The covers they rise and the muscles they twist

The lovers meet under a treacherous tryst

Yet nothing prepared for the moment they kissed

And their eyes met with love heaven-sent.

"Loco! Loco!" they bray, wanting neatness to stay,

Tidied rooms, closing doors as they're lost by the way

Through which others have carried them day after day

And they're bowing, conforming to norms.

For it's hard when you're scarred to not simply be harmed

By the things that they show you when you are unarmed,

By the people you see being not formed but farmed,

Staring blankly with evident scorn.

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