Friday, September 16, 2011

3258. BEDLAM

BEDLAM
(Mr. Windemar please tell me more)
Amidst this crazy cavalcade, I landed in
Bedlam; seeking a satisfaction never there,
like a cigarette lamp burning both ends,
like a stoplight rose already wilted,
the kind the beggars sell. I punched
the clock, I beat the cop, I incarcerated
five million, Khmer Rouge, Pol Pot.
Everything gone nuts, crazy on the
edge, shallow on the waterfall, trimming
on the hedge. Those five girls I saw,
they wallowed in the mire swallowing
for hire. And, in so many other ways,
everything I once imagined I saw in
the flesh, and for real. (Sit me down
a this table, Mr. Windemar,
please tell me more).

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