Blue Grama Grass
How to break an addiction. Decide to live.
What can I learn from my pain. Danger.
And friends are merely friendly, live on independent
of your injury. You will not be missed in church on Sunday.
Grass. Weed, broccoli, burrito, hay, stink, pot, skunk.
I'm talking blue grama, upland bent, smooth brome,
riverside panic, wild rye, fowl meadow, spike muhly,
sweet vernal, salt marsh, bristly foxtail, little bluestem.
Reefer is unhealthy, opens lesions in the brain,
wormholes into hell, yet should be legal. I'll vote that way.
It may ease the pathos into non-existence
well as meditation, bird watching, last will and testament.
Each joint hurts, rib joints, spine joints, skull plate joints.
The head and hip and heart will hurt, all three.
Insomniac I like the way bones crack and clack like
wooden wind chimes, an untuned piano, a tree rack of wornout shoes.
Never forget, the mind is the body paying attention
to what it does. Without that connection, each finger bent
or toe smashed is just added to the collection
of anonymous body parts of holocaust victims
in their mass graves. Better when every life saved
or lost is a front page story, an illusion of shared
sacrifice or joy, but that expresses only the surface
of our emotions. I'm mostly relieved to have survived.
Shadows of Lethal Unreality
Inside the rusted halls
of exploitation, a screaming
voice of oppression
hidden inside blood stained lies
encloses us in a room filled with
Terror and fear. Our minds
are inundated
with inane conspiracies,
created to enslave our naive minds.
Strange sounds
like bones clanking in a tin can
smothers our terrified voices
pleading for relief, as we
slowly drown inside
the absurdity of mental slavery.
Our bloodied brain crawls inside
metaphorical graves, held together
by rusted bolts and lost memories,
to escape domination,
But, our pleas become crushed
on the cold floor of subjugation, and we
are submerged in a pool of
bloodied hopelessness.
In the end, we are all left
with little breath
with which to inhale the dissolving hours,
because they are stolen by the leering clown
who is trying to enslave our minds
by forcing us to enter
into the shadows of his lethal unreality.
