TWILIGHT CUTTING ROOM FLOOR

Or fifty more shades of vanilla.
Or Cameron Diaz Wins Again.
Or Stop Bitching! You're WHITE!
Or...if the shoe fits you must be Barbie or Carrie Bradshaw.
The Hamptons.
Leo on Wall Street.
Trump in his Tower.
Rodeo Drive.
Malibu.
And you and you and all your favorite Gucci voodoo dolls.
Appropriate THIS.
That's appropriate the verb.
Not appropriate the adjective.
Spit it into any available slam poetry mic.
There's no copyright on EL VERDAD.
Tonight I wanted to kill two people.
Tonight I was happy I didn't own a gun.
In the museum called the morgue
we are all made of wax
and we are all President
and we are Miley Cyrus on her best day
Sylvester as Rocky on his worst day
Jesus dead and held in gently weeping Mary's arms
and the rude bitch using the phone
on Letterman's desk without his permission.
Vietnam is somewhere between Johnny Depp
and Jack on his beanstalk.
The climb is such a bitch.
Get inside the Uber car.
Hold your breath
unless you're one of those insensitive fucks
who thinks AXE body spray is super classy.
Nothing is written in blood
carved in stone
unless you fucking
want it
to be.