Sometimes I Just Hate Myself
Standing in an open field the sun
burned deep through my forehead mesmerized
by the arrow in mychestand the
bullet in my back--motionless quivers a
numbed spine paused my heart in a
rapture of devious contempt from a
long distance voice of panic depression
while lying with a rose petal of thornless
infinity---the bearer of this booklet trapped in a
Zodiac chasm of bottomless neverchoices
chants a harmful chord of courted chaos.
Free admission for the file of names that pass this way
that leave the dead lamp burning for useless
noones---abandon the frenzy wise sleuth and don
the love clown that fits you so well. Service to the innane
truth you call yourself and hope the
arrow bullet blend in a vicegrip ballet--
crippling your for afterlife shadow of
uncommon pretense. Take it to the place
where you stand lying down and grovel in your own
wasted time with little notion of grevious malice. There
is no pain only longing---no death only one size
fits all nothing and hear the vultures laugh
lovingly in the distance. Eat at Joes.
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