By Fiona Helmsley

Many machinations are borne of boredom
The devil makes use of idle hands
The road to hell is lined with retention
Take the footpath if you can

I met a boy
His name was Danger
He had a walking stick between his legs
We broke into church and
Stole the manger
And an empty poor box that kept us well fed

That bone dry poor box was our savior
From it’s sawdust we had steak
A Flophouse Feeding of 4000
And proof that
God loves a hot sinner
More than a cold saint.

I met a girl
Her name was Beauty
I tied myself to a rope so
She could lead

But she’d
Been ridden like a stallion
And she’d been fucked like a steed
She warned me I might lose her
As she was only tethered to a string
And she soon warped beyond repair
From twilight’s last breeding

And so dawn goes on to day
and nothing gold can stay.

There’s a dark place in the forest
Where the footpath meets the sand
A shovel and a broad axe
Were essential to the plan
And we all thought we’d have tomorrow
To take our amends
For if they offend you

Remove the devil’s idle hands.

Fiona Helmsley is a thirty- something momshell, navel-gazer and recovering fun slut. Her first book, There Are A Million Stories In The Naked City When You’re A Girl Who Gets Naked In The Naked City was released in August of 2010. A writer of creative non- fiction and poetry, her work can be found scattered about the print and online worlds.