September 26, 2012

poem 343 of a poem a day for 2012

fucking the puppets

I am outside
of autumn again
the curled ends of leaves
say to me
do not fear
being burned
fear not feeling anything
fear what leaves you empty
without being Buddhist
fear those people
with hollow in their eyes
that are all too willing
to bind you
to the train tracks to die
because it is the only way
they can feel
what being human
used to be like

those patterned stains
of chaos and dust
on the windshield
as I sit here idling
on a side street
trying not to be too beat down
by my own inability
to find a you there
outside the glass
says keep digging
but work fast

the slow tide
that memory washes up in
is like some bottled hope
you drink and pretend it’s gin
or some other fast acting poison
no this world is a sickening mess
oh god please bless us
please bless
these united states
of hollowness
please bless the zombie saints
and the other haints
because plain ol’ ghosts
in our memory
don’t do it anymore
we’re whores for the scare
that promises something better

after the bullwhip crack
breaks open our skin
we bleed out our lives
in these little songs
of almost
in molten metal
on wheels
to keep from slowing down
enough to breathe
while chewing
the lead paint for food
because bread
is so expensive
and the death
of my humanity
is so real


No comments:

Post a Comment