from the balcony
of the abandoned house
with a hundred rooms
the mercy and discipline
disappears
amidst the screams
you'd be well
to stay upstairs
and watch from a distance
the idiots parade
there is no admission
no honest admonition,
just the music they played
to travel through time
by unraveling how
the days are long
and why life is fraught
with confrontation
disease and fire.
there is part of me
that peeks around corners
where I watch something dark
and sharp surviving
those days cave in to these
and create a pearl
where surface charms
distract from past harm
and rejection,
indecision.
what monster comes out from under neath the lid?
monster movie portrays
victim as a fragile id
and everyone dies
first coverage news at nine
how does anyone
say it with a straight face?
by this point
your brain is filled
with so much useless information
unmarked exits
you never get off at
this is the way
you becalm your regret
over paint the deluged dark stars
with soft scars
but still changing and yet
this is the way
through the valley
over the river where
an old sense of self shivers
bank bound, stranded,
map-less and haunted
and the dealer delivers.
strapped down to a pillar
you learn to pay,
like the old days
this is the way.
(return)
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