Golden Calf

Sat quietly before
the golden calf
burnt a few 20 dollar bills
at her feet

That calf
doesn’t give a damn
about what I eat
what I wear
how much I
stare at women’s tits
or how much “juice”
I squeeze from the bottle.

She didn’t die for me
nor will I for her

She just likes me to sit
quietly
and burn 20s
at her feet

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Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry

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