Tuesday, December 20, 2016


I'm in the habit of throwing eggs 
at walls, but forgetting they're
hard-boiled; of painting colors on 
colored, cars and of passing 
passers-by on the run. All I 
need right now is a gun : are
you to be my neighbor or just
a fading premise? I walk five
miles a day in dread.
It's just a collection of habitual
bad things, but at least I'm alive
I guess. I've got one-up on the
guy I saw today driving down
that hill. I knew him, and we 
waved. But he looked so nervous
that I'd even noticed. He place
his hand on his heart, instead
of his head.
Here, in Tupelo town it's a
Christmas again. I think I'll go
forward, to that place in the park
where they keep that manger and 
crib. I thought that they'd done
away with all that, but now with
all the Mexicans who've moved in  -
Headquarters Plaza and Washington
Slept Here too  -  even this Morristown
now jiggers the monkey. Mangers and
Christ-childs, with Mexican children
pilgrims, and their gifts on the fly.
You can't just live a life like a
brush-off : you've got to do
something about it.

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