A Skinned Carcass.

Yes it has, and admittedly;

Come to pass unpredictably,

Every blade of grass is far from green,

No matter how fast I rearrange things.


In a palsied flash I see everything,

I cry and I laugh at what it all means,

Hope gets smashed to smithereens,

a high-speed crash into humanity.


A skinned carcass hung out and withering,

A trophy the champion left disintegrating,

A nothing that no one recalls quite clearly,

Something hung limply at the end of a string.


Yes it does, and quite totally;

blows my mind dumbfoundedly,

spends my time confoundedly,

by stinging my eyes perpetually.


But the tears I produce don’t mean anything,

just another excuse to curse the deities,

my tongue’s gotten loose and lashed back at me,

for speaking the truth in the face of mendacity.





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