trouble in paradise
John Dorsey
maybe she'd been the apple of your eye
eaten out lightly purring rthym
rain tapping against
the window
eve picking the grapes
of wrath up at
some used
bookstore
but some apples
are filled
with worms
and paradise isn't paradise
for long eternity smiles
on imperfection as if
it were the red headed step child
of a disco icon
and the only tapping going down lately
is that weathered vein
used to pay the rent
and love is hiding under
the covers waiting for the sun
to make a false move
and at 5:38 am these things
seem like
bitter fruit
when paradise seems
too troubled to say i
love you or even
brush
her teeth
