Saturday, May 31, 2014

Let me --

Cut off my edges. Let me, roughedged, feel
and weep. O, let me weep
until that roughedge melts
into Your skin, and then Lord
let me weep
and sleep
can i then only feel
rape murder dying
all other actions -- i
am still, am sighing, i
am not here, i only want
to miss the pain and truth and blunt
realities of what we say
to one another, day by day
Give me a punchline -- or
a pun, and i will laugh. I will
watch on,
until the next commercial break,
and then
i will skip channels till another's sin
in tangerine and orange flickers
once and again
then i will watch
O stop!
i will not watch --
and yet to think is time
it shrinks
my brain into the outlines of this game
The little pain
is paid for by amusement.
Distrait --
i am not here, i cannot tell
the punchlines roll and roll
and roll and (hell!)
unfleshed skeltonic
my crazed  brain
would think, but cannot!-- reaps
such -- rotted
grain --