What am I rejecting?
These patrons, while upsetting
are there to tell me
it's bound to bleed
eventually.
I must transform
old waves forgone
long crashes ago
foam bubbles seeped
into the soil
cycled up & over & down again
falling on the porch
in a heap so pitiful
only could be a pretty girl.
Laid out bare (the torch of grace)
I leave a bloody stain
upon her lovely face.
What am I rejecting?
the sense of reflection
past repremanding
recommending the future
present. presents wrapped in gold.
pre-presented at
the heart tugged
dragging from the cartoonish
man with saggy ears to
the sky flipping coins
and tricks to get by.
who the hell am i?
get rich and die
do we not see the disguise?
(democracy lies).
so while we make up these lies
smiles worth six pence and a knife,
try to understand the
child of gold crying
from her bloody eyes.
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