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We are all old and ugly here.
This is the place where antiChrists come to
die. Just like the secret elephant grove
in the Tarzan books. I call this place home.
We all do.
We have not been charged with any crime.
I sit in the corner, tallying screams--I once
threw a lizard into the propellor of a box fan
saw long fingertoes chopped into coleslaw
in the spinning metal blades.
But that one didn't make a sound.
They target me with pills today, faceless
voices in crisp white linen. I get to pick the colors:
sleep fire life death and I take the blue one,
just to be safe. Dreams tell me
there will always be another Messiah, en route
from Nazreth, Mecca,
some place in South America
or maybe just Detroit.
But I was here first.
WHITE
shadows fall
follow me
down the path
of my disease
shadows watch
watch me crawl
out of bed, into bed
watch me fall
shadows laugh
laugh in my head
won't ever shut up
until I'm dead