eyes open like terrified soldiers...
and i crack each knuckle:
one
at
a
time
more days. slower movement. joint aches.
the sun sneaks up & i hold myself tighter
alone
at least it is peaceful?
cemetry & semitaries (my life spent in between)
i have sinned, my god, i have sinned
and i repay my debt
in the dirt
shoveling worms & weedy things
making homes for someones husband
or lover
or doorman
I, a true teller of my fortune
see only the end
in each break of dawn
& they say:
these things make men out of mice
& they tell me:
i'll be scared straight
into l i n e s
but...
i know lines
& i know holes
& geometrically
they
just
aren't
right
a hole
is not a line
is not a box
so i should choose
or be chosen for
my mother used to yell so hard,
she'd shake.
and now I
bound by my biology
mimick
her ways
and end up here:
12 feet over
a six foot grave
staring into the future
of some poor, sad fella'
who never realized
that the only way to go
was in a burst of flames
