Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Baby I Scar; draft #4

those hoodwinking evangelists
are not abused burned victim enough
and I have been driven into the thick mud under foot
days after the rain
black tongues with burned black talk.

and who pays for this whirlpool windmill
piss trickling down drain pipes leaking from decades long decay
and how
do I daily wash my hands clean when it is my people
keep shitting in the shallow end
or cannibals eating the hearts of others?

we are one and maybe accident prone are we,
a mix of colors and chemicals in a meth lab
chipped pale red wood shavings sprinkle cast shadow off cabin's far corner
and funneled by leaky weather rain vomit on woods green turned to brown:
rinsed away like so many earthly crimes.

Needle can I lick taste the bitter drugs as they rush through your veins
as I fall backward in a passed out slumber backwater night walk?

I will fail long before or after celebrity's made famous
for dodging questions land jawbone first onto razor sharp exit ramps
or a country made famous for lack of luck
lands dismal fate laid low
(sometimes in mind by us and everyone).

this machine stealing thoughts and body functions
has an inside deal on 22nd century eyeglasses.
It sees in 3-d,
and though my skin may not burn
I scar baby I scar.

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