Paradigm of Death
Cut off within
and without connection
"Why am I so alone, so
desolate? Look at
what I've done,
coloring inside the lines
even when shocking pink
was the style."
Longshoremen, in early dawning
stinking of dead fish
seagulls' wet crying
Desolate, the sea entwined
with sky casting about
into another day.
On city streets
homes hide those inside
but out here
rabid eyes, aching tense
grimy and sore
another and another day
Cutting bright bands that swell,
fester, invert pleasure
sticky stench grinding
Laugh with angry spittle
into God's eye
hoping to be struck on this spot
"No!" defiant "No excuses --
the service is lousy; no tip for
you scuttling scum."
Echoes can shatter through canyons
erupt abruptly seeping through sleep
settling into stones and weary sand.
"I told you! Don't disturb me!"
Working, negotiating plans for
more effective extermination
Organic stink, putrefying
must be extinguished.
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