The Godhead
I see so constantly
the mother I wish not to be
a trainwreck citing meat too lean
malnourished and mis-wed by seventeen
I am the feet that swell and sore
under plum-bruised body and broken back
an assembly line of plastic doors
for plastic cars on plastic tracks
and I breathe the bright ladylike sea;
drown in her Riesling spindrift air
for I am dying words of ennui
so trite and unaware
an impromptu speech
to Father - I've planned for seven years
the words I thought would safely breach
my stiff and stilted fears
and name this ugly rabbit's foot
painted black by years of soot
I am the God of captious rancor
the necrotic rot you've been searching for
Copyright © Paul Sylvester | Year Posted 2005
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