Monday, May 26, 2014

Funeral Day in Strawberry Ville

You taught me every notion I had of true love
Was an illusion wavering between pity, selfishness, and deceit
Like a triangle with you center
I wanted the area to be valid 

I am encompassed in void
My identity truncated into mock-death
Funeral held behind eyelids
Recalled on various Monday’s like quarterly tax payments

Reconstruction on mementos like scraped wallpaper
Ready to retexture and repaint, the former covering is feckless waste
The images of what once was found beautiful
Is crumpled for land-fill, better folded into itself or out?

Stare into the maw of the beast or act as if the stomach is home
The enzymes distort the present in what one must digest
Exit the stage of excrement and grow as life proceeds
The void is to separate the corn kernel or the kiwi seed  

As if survival is non-change or evolution was froth with folly
Ha, fucking ha!
The churn feels good when it is complete; muscles, cortex, abdomen, Yes!
Though this zombie has such trouble with cartography

Vagabond stepping in circles meditating on the power of Tuesdays
Battling the peril of love and fear
Keeping distance from each as the tongue knows their flavors of destruction
Sold through ends of the spectrum

Licked like white-ash canine-remnant from the triangle
Used as stepstool, ornament, and whipping post
A man becomes objectified in the mirror of a woman’s eyes
Ocean winds blow away the plastic for flesh to return!

Paint the walls and mop the floors!
Grow the garden and hang the doors!
Frame the pictures and put away the eulogies!

A man morns no more!

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