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ELECTROSHOCK

May 5, 2018

I have become the enemy,

I am aligned with the enemy.

Always with an ulterior motive,

Love. And then I make bail.

 

I broke her heart. True,

But then, she was too young.

At that moment in time,

Now there’d be another way.

 

I cursed myself once,

Two or three times, in fact.

Maybe four. The fourth’s idiocy,

Now I’m who I am, where I am.

 

We remain the same no matter where,

So said number one, after the fact.

I went missing once. I’m back now,

I left a man for dead then.

 

I step over bloodied corpses daily,

I keep no secrets. I have none.

See you on Sunday. Maybe,

If not then, when?

 

The fools make foolish accusations,

And all the while, she weeps.

Bleach blonde and all,

What a sorry state.

 

And if we met again ….

We did. I walked straight past.

On the other side of the world,

Who’d have thought?

 

They sit on upper plains,

They’re paid. We’re dirtied.

They’re paid hourly. Me, daily,

I’m paid with recompense.

 

They wave away the papered hand,

Where to from here? They ask.

I’ve no response to give,

I’m lost myself, on the street.

 

Rebuffed. Rebuked. Smile, smile,

It’s no. We need no shame.

And a backbone: a tail feather,

We’re all made up malfunctioning.

 

What’s that for?

Oh, we’ve evolved beyond it.

Doctor writes down appendectomy,

He’s a psychiatrist, white haired.

 

I don’t need an experienced hand,

I’ve been around for longer.

And I’ve been all around, town and all,

She hung around for hours. Strange.

 

She. She sought answers. We had none,

As usual, we had none. Darling girl.

Spoke to all of her great efforts,

But parents cuckold, as always.

 

A dream girl. Dream lashes and all,

Leather jacket. Loose dress.

Blowing in the wind, what charm,

Vertical black and white lines. Yes.

 

And what to write of when there’s no care?

When there’s no interest, in love.

Feminine wiles are enchanting,

I notice this, and you, dear one?

 

Dear one, of feminine wiles,

You write of what, dear?

Brutish lovers, I suppose,

Mister Hughes: I spit upon him.

 

Poet laureate, of what state?

What an honour! What’s your role?

You can’t even say! You do as they say!

You’re not even published! No more.

 

Were you cruel to her? Why yes,

You killed her, sir. We say suicide.

I say ‘you killed her, sir’, in cold blood,

She was fickle. You knew this well.

 

And the fickle are weak, and dishonoured,

The fickle are suicidal, and commit suicide.

A crime, no less! An idiotic one,

I’m dead, and guilty. Oh, what leisure.

 

I’ll do as I will with this life,

I’ll take as many lives as I wish.

One: that’s all. My own,

I’ve the right. They won’t prosecute.

 

They’ll persecute. They’ll sing proud,

We feel surrounded. There’s one only.

We seem lost. We’re in the woods,

And shrubbery. I remember: she gave herself up.

 

She extends a hand, for I did the same,

You dress me in a jumpsuit! The shame.

You dress me in a poncho, orange. Shame!

I am my own man, not another’s.

 

I gave up a façade today, put up a new one,

I make them smile, so they refuse me with guilt.

I like this. Is it reverse psychology?

No: it’s just a ploy. I laugh.

 

Drop dead suit. Of course: don’t speak,

Put on dark colours, fool, with red.

Red on black, quite a sight,

Yes: I know that I’m a shock.

 

Electroshocked: it burst my brain,

But temporarily only. Then I’s back.

In red and black, as a sort of nazi,

A hitman. A paratrooper. Etcetera.

 

I’s the shooter. I did the deed,

And so what? I murdered the leader:

I’d do it again. He’s a bigot, strange,

I kill the strange. I shock it out, electroshock.

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