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ALL BROWN AND DEAD

May 8, 2018

I refuse to call you by your new name,

I see them down below, out my window.

But what do you need to do. Need,

. you’ll always remain with me ….

Always yourself; myself, enchanted,

Full to overload. Cold to hysteria.

The children. The children wail,

You write the books that they loathe.

I am before them, never at ease –

Paper’s flung: towards me, elsewhere,

I was once resident plane watcher.

I’d catch the train to see them,

I’d meet the hordes. I’d charm them.

They’d prefer me to their leader, I know,

But abandon them, I always did.

For abandon them I must, though I heard their words,

Their voices, young and all. Looking forward ….

They knew not just what they craved,

Too young! We’re always too young to some,

Or to one. Age is always relative,

I’m my mother’s son. She enjoys lunch with the girls.

Women. And what of brunch, say I,

They look at me oddly. This is not a concept they know.

Teas, high teas …. always with the girls,

Men drink coffee, straight up.

Coffee’s too bitter for little women,

So says Alcott in taciturn turns.

Teas surrounded by garden flowers,

In full bloom. The day’s come where we must

Let go all our traditions …. sadistic,

We no longer believe. We continue.

Once, it was virgin girls,

Now, it’s animals who take the fall.

And always defenceless animals,

Herbivores and such.

The human is weak,

Too meek to kill the weak.

Slaughter! We slaughter en masse,

For celebrations and other.

Always in cold blood,

Me, I’m without a soul.

I’ve no blood. I’m the underbelly,

I lurk in shadows, cleared spaces.

The sun can’t touch my precious flesh,

They say I lack nutrients.

I say they err in their ways,

I stand guard at exits,

Entrance halls and all,

I achieve nothing, of course.

Though some feel good for their deeds,

I see the futility of the deeds.

In protection of lower species,

Some say there are no lower species.

I am perhaps one. It’s crude,

A rude, cruel business.

It renders men insane,

They’re now, all, suicide cases.

And I laugh for all is just,

I fell off the wagon.

I was coerced, but I fell,

I walked the plank and I jumped.

I hopped up onto the gallows with glee,

Was my act worthy of death?

Some man said so, so I go,

I sit in a cell awaiting my sentence.

It’s my signature song

That they sing, as I take my final strides.

Some are saddened. I am gladdened,

My internment has an end.

I prefer the black death,

And the dark side of nature.

Holy nature, holy crux,

I appeal nothing. I begged and begged.

An hour for a final call,

I take twenty minutes and a

Twenty from my wallet,

I look back at former times.

Gypsies singing in trains for cash,

I’ve dark stains all over me.

Bloody and red they are,

And I scratch and scratch.

And how did it come to this?

I wonder, to Mother Mary.

To Marilyn, who broke hearts,

And died young: not the lucky number.

Here, we needed eight or nothing,

Eight red, my chips were poised.

A protruding arm scoops them up,

It’s all a game, the final verdict.

Stand and hear your fate,

I’m a martyr. This, I know.

They say I’m psychotic,

With neuroses, and I’m most pleased.

The airborne disease will strike first,

They’ll bemoan their lack of action.

It turns and turns. Each day, sun up,

I see a proud flag.

I see sadness behind dark shades,

In merriment we walk these halls.

Long, narrow halls, dimly lit,

All is dim, but all is clear.

The date is set. I lie in wait,

You lied (!), they cry. I bow my head.

I’ve no more to add. I’m free,

I thought it was them:

I’ve learned it’s you,

You all along, you.

I’ve gone down for former crimes,

And I wait my turn.

A coffee at the counter of my favourite bar,

He intervened, like a pretentious twat.

I looked down. I found my fortune,

A future of gold. Downtown images.

He looked to pass. I hoped to stay,

A skeleton in the place of a rose.

We fuse one with the other. We laugh,

The police all busy on the corner.

She can’t drive. She can’t be guilty,

Feed the homeless here: a dollar a pipe.

We talk in pipes here for they’re on crack,

All. From there they stumble,

One upon the other until avalanche,

The ice mountain melts:

Now floods stir us into action,

When I was young we had drought.

Oh, how I cherished those days,

It was hot. The grass all brown and dead.

It reminded me of my certain future,

I foretold my fate, and I pray.

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