2010/06/14

those wounds you never would have thought will never heal...

 some memories grow stronger
over the years
all the thoughts between the event and the now
 add to the word world we enter
when we think of
THAT DAY
whatever it is for the one
or the other
who we pass silently
 unknowingly
through our day
the sexual assault
the brutal parent
the misfiring chemical
the endless list of ways to fuck up a kid's head

I feel my anger over some things has grown
fed by newspapers and conversations
and hours of sleepless nights
thinking
Wittgenstein wrote
about how we enter a game
when working with words
a library of self referential novels
 line the shelves of our mind
some got the Turner Diaries*  
some got a bible
self-help books/dr. phil/opera
we have one for ever situation
type of conversation
a salesman knows
 the words are all a game leading to a sale
con men know
fortune tellers know
waiters know
shrinks know



poet's and prophets
play the same cords
in man
we can make the dance mad and frantic
or gently romantic
a threat to the elite or an ode to ayn rand

most of us forget
that the words have a purpose
every second
that they beckon
 into your world
an invite some will take graciously
and others will sneer off like a hot girl
who has been hit on too much to notice an innocent hello

an undercover agent
knows every word
has deeper meanings/possibilities
weigh what they say carefully
to keep guns from being pulled
 and fighting for their life

This a war
you were drafted into by your own morality

you have no choice
except to take orders from your consciousness
deserters will be shot
you know because you ran and your hands grew traitorous
life empty and irrelevant
put the gun to your temple and fired
God or something caused the miss fire... after miss fire...  after miss fire

I can't go to any family funerals
 because a guy who molested me will be there
with his innocent kids
I won't pretend that we can come together without violence
I am not that person anymore
the blood on my hands dries
and that just tells me there is a need for more
somebody gotta keep swinging
because the enemy is everywhere
somebody
 gotta stand and swing their sword in a circle
as they go down surrounded
eager to meet their God with the blood of his enemies smeared across my face









(*book about insane right wing revolt that inspired Mcveigh, the domestic terorrist, or whatever he was)


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