As the horde scandalized: The Oscars
for best village idiot, Jezebel captured
kindness & did things to it.
As they fumbled & bumbled to be looked
after, to come to mean no harm--Jezebel
opened an underground soup kitchen
for her generational curse.
They all came with their bowls, coveting
the recipe.
Jezebel made kindness smile for all the
wrong reasons, like she rehearsed at
home--or else.
Jezebel did whatever it took to discipline
the dark arts.
Worked a burning candle inside her, to raise the pitch of words.
Then fell on a blank page like a bored
tormentor.
Where poetry did everything she said.
She cackled as village idiots were charmed by her words, & the odd ****
that said: Who, me?
Until a Jnani slurped down the bowl, named every ingredient & burped.