Friday, March 26, 2010

Baby I Scar; draft #5 (final draft more or less)

those hoodwinking evangelists
are not abuse burn victim enough
and I
am driven into thick mud under foot
days after rain
black tongues burned black talk

and who pays for this windmill whirling
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
cannibals eating the hearts of others?

Maybe accident prone are we
mix of colors and chemicals in a meth lab
chipped pale red wood shavings sprinkle cast shadow off cabin's far corner
funneled by leaky weather rainvomit onto 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?

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

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