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
EJR
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