"A snapshot through an eight-inch
scope aimed at me and the floor below"
-
- I’m feeling the repercussions of a life full of
these mental concussions
- that builds up in time to start hurting my
stomach
- until I feel like I might die if something
doesn’t start working
- in favor of mine.
- But I guess I can’t really complain
- I’m one day closer to gaining the fame
- that I’ve sacrificed all but my name
- in order to break into this world
- that could possibly regain the integrity
- that we’ve all just given away
- throughout the days just to get paid
- by some socially accepted nazi
- who looks just like me and you
- probably wakes up ties his own shoes
- ties his tie that resembles a noose
- just in case of bad news
- he can cut loose from a world
- he never knew - just used to
- make himself a million, billion, trillion,
- but know he’s swinging from the ceiling
- because he placed his material possessions in
front of his feelings.
- But it is his kids that I really remorse
- of coarse they probably end up like he did
- take over the family business
- insisted by their mother
- whose got another father figure
- who happens to be the gravedigger CEO
- who handed down the suicide note to that poor
soul
- whose pink slip came in the form of a 13-knot
rope –
- scapegoat out choked executive joke
- waiting to take another poke at another poor
soul
- with an eight inch scope
- just to show or for show who knows
- what goes on or up the nose probably coke
- or some other cliché’ word for dope.
- Shit, I just woke up with this cloak and dagger
- sticking out of my back and staggered into the
living room
- assassins jacking off to some racket coming
from the kitchen cabinets
- where I store all of the heads and hats of
fascists
- and racists lets face it
- there’s no place for these advocates of hate
- but sadists are always welcome to stay and play
- I think some day the depraved
- will save the lives of the gays
- without being ashamed
- or afraid of what someone might say
- or without trying to explain
- that their best black friend is of the lightest
shade
- maybe these gray days and tyrant ways
- are soon to be passed away
- by poets who assassinate racial hate
- with words and turn faces to the left
- but when it’s my turn I'll bet…
- I’ll burn what’s left
- of the crosses and steeples
- that I consider a unnecessary evil
- because most people are to feeble to see
- that I’ve revealed myself as the devil to be
- and without any warning I could be on top
- and believe me it’s closer than you think
- I’m on the brink
- of breaking into this industry
- as a poetic radical
- an assassination to be
- living off the money I received by thievery
- from the National Arts society
- who still views me as racy crazy
- and lets face it I am abrasive
- not the typical poetic salvation
- but there is starvation in the minds of these
people
- and even if I am labeled as evil
- my sold soul will not weeble, wobble or topple
- tomorrow I’ll probably be asked to interview
with Ted Kopel
- or the O’reilly factor
- exactly where did you get this number
- it’s unpublished and not even mine
- I’m just hiding out here for awhile
- buying some time
- until I can write my version of the bible
- and sell it to every kid who attends high
school
- and alcoholics anonymous they seem to like us
- or me and my 665 other personalities
- who all live vicariously through me
- while I act like a junkie.
-
- funny I don’t remember sending out a press kit
to the president
- but I guess it’s no accident that I became the
devils advocate
- I guess it’s to late to repent all of my sins
and begin
- to lead a normal life
- and finally drop the knife
- that I like to hold by the necks
- of all the people who despise what I write –
- But, never in this life will any protest of my
mind
- encourage me to be more kind
- to any god-given life
- even if it is mine
- and I’m forced to close my eyes
- that is fine
- as long as you realize why I was left to die
- by a million other lives that never tried to
become as I –
- and if the tie of that poor soul becomes me
accessorized
- then I’m sure you’ll see me swinging from that
12th floor ceiling
- just the same as he
- perhaps I’ll never leave
- and truly become an ornament
- an oracle or miracle for someone spiritual
- and literature will become scripture with
pictures
- and ever lasting life that requires millions of
witnesses.