sick of the spitoon

and it’s all a spitoon,

the racey dreams,

and the dripping danks,

and the evolution of a ponyboy into a centaur.

or a pony girl into a unicorn,

and the silence is almost over.

I’m sick of slick,

sick of lipstick,

sick of cherries on shirts,

and little women gathering in wherever it is little women gather,

spitoon girl,

too much tragedy,

too much forlorn.