my baby don't cook

(x-country venue) not autobiographical!

her heart an empty pan - rust top to bottom,
a cold black bowl of hate there - wish she'd die 
...her hair but leavens bred in splitin...ends 
a salted, heart-baked, battered, cussed -turd guy.

(chori faster/funk?)

but my baby don't cook...burned the book
oh, she's got ingredients in all the right places, but look...,
one look all it's took to know my baby don't cook.
           
(verses slower)
               
spit venom tongue of hers': endodigestive
I'm 'et empty  from within, dessert of soul,
fess-up-scared  of her burnt-earth invective
"me gone! double you! time's up as (w)hole".

it's pop-style vac-u-us her constellation
pointless countless lights o' shoe hair nails
in-finite regress: o' oprah, phil & martha
her talent closure tincture vacuum tale.

but my baby don't cook...burned the book from the hook,
ingredients in all the right places, saw ya look...,
It took one look to know my baby don't cook.

                          *
if she turns out the light it’s to burn me better
I can't see what, she'll only let me feel,
'her polyanna-lovely full of air please'
"you pull her hair, she won't care or squeal"

my baby can't cook...she's burned the book
she's got the ingredients, right, but look...,
one look all it's took to know my baby won't cook.

but i ain't shook ...
did ya look? ...
so my baby don't cook...
who cares......squares.

Ya hear me complaining?