Monday, July 6, 2020



—I’M GETTING USED TO THESE DIZZY SPELLS


sort of

it’s a harsh day
living in a
puppet country
where that man shouts (…)
and this man shoots (…)
and it never stops
the smoking lightning
on staccato repeat
you gotta love a snuff film
where everyone’s accredited
you gotta love the weeds
coming up crooked
in your own cracked eyes
and me I’m
spending all my
hours drinking
contaminated proof
the kind from
gum-dry Mexico
it’ll get me drunk enough
or dead enough
to not be anyone
anymore
who cares
I guess I care
yeah I do
sort of I do
but I can’t figure out
why the trees won’t
lend a hand
the owls in them
some wisdom
even the raccoons
are wearing Kevlar
while on Pike Street
they’re painting
over over
over and over
and over
on your street
the blood might not
be dry or bled yet
and I get
the feeling we’re
at war with our
own clogged ancestry
and mysteries
if only I
knew you
and you
knew me better
but no here
we go again ha
it’s a steep fall
we’re all gonna spill
with no cushion
to catch us
no plaintiff willing
to make a case

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