and saving on royal mail,
aeroplanes sail across the room.
The pilots pissed but still reaches his target.
Bullseye.
Bully for you.
The scene is set.
Sitting at the back
eyes can see all.
She thinks I am too far behind,
that I am a pauper in poorer ranks
while she is the Princess
of false smiles
and banks.
I'm as common as your right arm.
All tracks lead to the heart.
They all have linear lines
from the same play.
Shakespeare wrote about it once I'm sure.
Even kaleidoscopes can see it coming
from a mile off.
This post office of Sonnets:
Pablo, Rosetti,
she throws love around like confetti.
Her finances come from
the stock market of attraction.
the stock market of attraction.
She puts a bit of herself
in every exchange.
Lips, hips and budding tits.
Showing potential
that never grows.
She is Queen of Country
who refuses to lose her head
while I am the young Wyatt
to her love.
The pretty words I write
The pretty words I write
make the impact of a tree
that falls when no one is around
to see or hear
a thing.
The churches eyes follow mine
as she takes advantage
of a more docile faith.
Those stained glass windows
believe you must put the ant
after your protest of innocence.
Its hard work will be true to the cloth.
An apology heals no wounds.
Another plane sails across the room.
Another plane sails across the room.
This student always reaches her own set targets.
We are at school
and she learns nothing.
