The Wildcard

Looking for a light to sneeze in, I turn to
YOU, VOILA! and ricochet snot all the way back
Jackie Kennedy's plot, rest his Seoul.
My microwaved brains served up on a platter,
I frequent the salon trying to cut out
the ache, the headache
that I have for you.
You know, I, I just couldn't help myself.
That line—I didn't want to write it, honestly,
I didn't want to take this direction.
It wasn't even my idea, really,
rather, it was planted in my head
by a mutual aberrance,
liek inception.
You see, I don't write love poems anymore,
I just don't; love, to me,
is but evol spelled backwards.
"Tony Banks, would've led them, to the wildcard," I explain,
"Now, will you, give me that chance,
the wildcard?"