When I came into the city
I wore my wedding dress
to symbolize the sham
celebration of life there.
I got the grocery store
gunpowder blues.
I was standing in line
next to a virtuous man
and a vice-ridden bawdy fucker.
And I couldn’t tell them apart,
both looked like carnivores to me.
So, I thought I’d shoot myself
at the meat counter and
go on sale as stew meat,
wrapped in wedding lace for
husbands who dine on souls
and for all young brides
who aim to please.