Crown of Futility
There is nothing, impossible,
in this world, to see it
for what it really is, without
the Sunday night desperados
grabbing their Red Bulls and
malt liquors down at the DoubleQuick.
Inside my secret kingdom
of open dumpsters, a rusty beer
sign & cigarettes, billboards for God,
the deer stands in every field, I
only want, what every change
requires, that which cannot be:
Conviction. I only trust my tortured
collage artist sense of stories
aborted in every way and cooking
cans of soup at home, alone. I can
offer you this, my love, my precious
imperfection, my DNA in earnest, in
every disguise, myself, renamed, and
what little I believe in. My shins are
bruised from doing this kind of walking.
My Groups
-
Poetry Updated: 6 hours ago
-
Mississippi Teacher Corps Updated: Oct 9, 2009
-
Peace Corps Updated: Sep 16, 2009
Neighborhood
Explore friends, family, friends & family, or entire neighborhood.
