Saturday, May 16, 2015

1992 poem

It feels like nothing is wrong
I am
Whole and intact
Another flesh covered box
In a row of
Flesh covered boxes
Waving my fingers
Waiving my liberties
To corporate approved libertines
Do you mind if I kick this tin can?
Can you move a little to the left?
I think you're in my spot
Standing in the shadow of this week's Jesus
Can you read the spiritual phrenology?
My soul kept tripping down the stairs
Until I lost it in the war
All that remains are the scrapes and bruises
Somebody hand me the rifle
Somebody hand me the bible
Sneak up behind me and yell "BOOM"
I can almost make it through the
Pledge of Allegiance
I hold my breath
Swallow my pride
Swallow my vomit
And pretend I'm relevant
I remember feeling really happy
The sun and rain bathing my face at the same moment
It's superfluous and fleeting
Everybody talks about the weather
But it just hangs there
Like a hanged man
A lost civil liberty
An escaped epiphany
Just another phantom limb

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