The New Sanhedrin.

I am sorry I am so good
straight A’s on display
I have nothing to say in the confessional booth,
pure truth I live
I’m that new chemical smell that makes us like cars
fresh off the line and into your lot.
I’m that beautiful, innocent, gentle young woman that’s drinking something fine and classy while schmucks surround me, wasting their lives at the bar.
I’ve been compared to the newest of phones
to the smoothest of stones that could be skipped on and on for miles and produce many, oh so many smiles of jealousy
so close to heresy I dance
unwrinkled
clothed with diamonds
and perfumed with Chanel #5.

I’m doomed cause I’m so close to perfection
with nail in one hand and stone in the other and stone in my chest and I’ll use all three if I hear the words “brood of vipers” once again.

Father morning and mother rising sun
will you marry me to harder words?
so that I could shed the shit that I call right, and be left
with what I don’t know, what I haven’t been.