Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Writer's Block: 2016

The silent sounds that sink slowly
The sober songs that stick around
A beating lasts in perpetual motion
The mugger rank and reeking of privilege
So what?
The corpulent creature relaxes
Content with its sagging tumescence
Death, you see
Gives it a boner.
I have nothing
My hands, you see, are empty
Yet scars, you see, are still there
Seeing is not believing
You can watch a murder and trust in death
You can burn a village and dust in ash
You can eat your neighbor
And keep rhythm with his bones.
I can’t see what you see
You cannot feel what I feel
Hate is what it spews
Pouring out in wet, hot spurts.
You can’t kill a disease
But you can try.

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