and despite everything we’ve
created we are still surrounded by emptiness
we have the promise of the lottery
we have ipods for
starving children everywhere
and it feels good to rest out here
to just drop to your knees on the edge of
burnt hill road and let the blood flow,
and it feels good to close yr eyes
left him lying there because the baby was
crying, buzz of flies was a soft blanket,
a wall, a gentle ocean
shadows of birds in flight
could taste it, like music or the
sound of running feet
no one asleep, but one of us turned away
autumn maybe or the end of summer
and the heat like a dull blue shroud
silver sun in a sky the color of dust and
despite all of the wars we’d won
we were lost
found the mother in a shallow grave with her
hands cut off but we never found the father
had 400 channels to choose from
and it wasn’t enough
had some good fucking medicine
still hated myself, but not as much
not as fiercely
missed the heat that came with
all of that glorious empty anger
* * * * * *
originally in the now-defunct DEAD SNAKES, with a mangled David Bowie lyric for the title.
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