GOALS TO GO
Within sight of everything and
anything, I lapsed my loud-mouthed
lungs aloud and called the game a
sham. Alas, and no one listened.
It was a day in early August again
and I once more felt bereft of honor.
Never knowing why. I took a rag
and cleaned a car. I took a beer and
walked. Down to the lake below me,
where some crank lounged in his
plastic pedal-boat. What sort of
game is any of this?
-
Was once a time when I could
have killed him from my bluff
above. Now? I can't even remember
the words these creeps use for
what they term 'murder.' And, no,
I don't see it tht way - rather,
it's cleansing my world of debris.
I was born with gunshot eyes.
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