Running Around With My Head Cut Off

 


A mind full of lies to learn
became being mindful of the energy burn;

cocky, for no reason other than to
reference my papercut competition
deep in the dank as one
official chicken....
puling a hole to beak or peak
couched in poetic pain...

we know all that
everything that glitters is
{bloody good fun}
a spaz, a smoke, a sight
but here there be
choking on broken bones
in Styrofoam boxes,
sparking with a spurt, a start, a spray,
a dust & ease in its normal
(pathological) state of grease...
a cackling caw from the law
by a gristly sheen in green....

and there are moments when even the grit is mincing,
always seen {before you can see} preened
and shining on like a smile of squawking hammers
or flashlights through the black pools of parking lots
on thick summer nights
into a formidable lockstep
of numbers forcing slips & little choices
into chittering cages that are never
high enough to peruse the fading fight -

we need to know this lethal injury
before we can be understood
fully, or to the best of our ability
at scratching our dinner from the dirt
as confessions on atrocious acoustics
peak & beak
at the slow & steady wade
through a dank slaughterhouse
number out of reach,

the sky is cleaning my face...clearly, I am
out of touch & parlaying time
through a fear of crowds & enclosed space...

I have decided to make a break for the light
{or death} I have decided to make
happiness my perpetual rebellion, always

with a mind full of lines to earn
being mindful of the
energy burn.