Green Grass and Fences—a country song ([broken] poems from old notebooks, August 2015)

Dilemma, dilemma, we’re sat on your horns
Here looking at thistles and falling in thorns
They say one is for sorrow and two’s for joy
So finding a third we start thinking, Deploy!

There’s green grass and fences
Wherever we look
And advice against climbing
In plenty of books

Half our lives are spent
Half-wanting to know
If this one or that one’s
Half-sick of status quo
Half-horny, half-hearted,
Half-ready to go

But the math changes for threesomes
You’ll learn to your sorrow
Love ain’t a house with a mortgage
Against which you can borrow

There’s green grass and fences
Wherever we look
And advice against climbing
Hardly ever gets took

You’ll tie yourselves all up—not in
Bondage, but Gordian knots—
Until you learn the fucking you get
Ain’t worth the fucking you got

A cliché’s a cliché
And there’s nothing as sharp
As a rusty old saw
Oh, a ménage à trois
Will leave your heart
Bloody and raw

Bloody and raw
Bloody and raw
Ain’t nothing half as sharp
As a rusty old saw

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
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