Marriage = s/he who dies first wins.
Father forgive my sins.
Preparation + opportunity = luck, and
I must purge my ill-humored conscience—
all the damned nonsense—
before one of us, your division bell plucks.
Love and marriage, like horse and carriage.
Please sir, may I have more porridge?
And, if it’s no inconvenience,
half-and-half won’t cut it, you know.
The milk must be whole.
Just a bit selfish with my last meal/penance.
Horse and carriage and funeral procession
ending the endurance of his/her possession
of the infant-pure soul of the other,
and Oliver Twisted will be freed
from this workhouse of society
that soils mother, son, father, daughter.
by S. A. Bort 7 July 2013
above illustration, “Oliver Asks For More” by Harold Copping