Poem #2,783 | I hated those notes

I hated those notes atop
that wardrobe –
paid-for
salacity – a gig that’d not
be let go of –
with those
terms a contract dulls &
a re-write valid –
I revisit
pasts only because I am
asked how this is –
Truth
is a glass of sour poison
sipped over years –
With
each repeat of twistings
of chapters every player
spins under tongue-lick
of old wives’ tales –
Thin
lips open up too much –
I hear fools misdirected
to uncoiled mis-truths –
her notes had no worth
[dust down all surfaces]