Freestyle

Roses are red, my knuckles are blue.

Gave lust a shot, now my esophagus is bruised.

Love ballads crooned by Beyonce’s larynx

pushed me into a pile of bull… Shhhhh!

Asteroid to the eye.  Calloused cavemen feet painting

the anti-love manuscript on my abdomen.

Every batted eyelash lashes at my iris.

Tomato-red pupils pollute emerald plains,

a green that would put Frankenstein to shame.

If I turn around, will you strap my straightjacket?

Padded walls pluck my mind like banjo strings.

A gerbil trapped in its treadmill ball.

Poking its beak, peering through plastic. Searching.

Is there a cure?  A despot?  Just pot, please.