walking the plank and diving into blissful oblivion

by Joseph D. Reich

I lie dead awake
from raw hardcore
wisdom and experience
and intuition and will never
sleep again ‘cuz no need to
my senses now so keen and
fried and hardwired and sharpened
from your jagged ragged bed of roses
your patch of poisoned pachysandra
your awful horrible shock of suburban
marigolds i have a heart of gold
and you stole my soul and all
i got left to bear is my heart
and soul with my internal
organs strewn out in the soil
like some old time woebegone
pal who just got jigged to death
in the park at dusk with a rusty
screwdriver now inside-out
(the outside in) fully exposed
xxx for all the world to see
dead to the world my
blood and my bone
marrow and brain
being held together
by the warm soulful
palms of an angelic
señorita and all
your so-called
innocent bystanders
without an ounce of
compassion you so-
called advanced creatures
half-human true-blue hypocrites
can witness and experience
as always been so blatant
and obvious see-through
and of the mob element
you just develops a sixth
sense and a seventh and
globs of insight and wisdom
all my deepest and most shallow
secrets and thought patterns
and simplest and most innocent
of dreams and expectations so
yes once again say hallelujah!
say amen! like some broken
record fucken goddamn america
with devils who thirst and thrive
off other people’s blood off
others suffering and sorrow
you have convicted me
and i am your scarecrow!
your crucified jesus!
your poster child!
your public enemy #1!
your convenient criminal!
when i was the most generous
and loyal soul you’d ever want
to know so lo and behold you
mass of conformist cowards
where human nature precludes
you now live and thrive off of
broken promises and betrayal
and swear never had a mean
bone in my body and maybe
be like that scene from man
on the moon
where andy
kaufman just stood there
all ‘dazed and confused’
raw bare naked exposed to
the audience and monotoned
sincere and earnest as they
come and read some full
and complete novel until
there was just no one left
in the crowd and took off
not getting the joke unaware
they were the real joke and
andy on my deathbed think
my choice might this time
be something like “tender
is the night” by f scott
not so sure about hemingway
how come no one ever does
faulkner if it was kerouac it
would have to be “desolation
angels” definitely “remembrances
of things past” and long last at last
be found dead finally content from
one last final dose of dope like
bela lugosi in his easy chair
with some farewell juvenile
childlike vampire smile
no asshole or liar could
possibly steal from you.

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