Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Poem from April 9th, 2008.

"Self-Portrait as a Scarecrow"

I am happy to ignore

the albino babies, crying their pink diamond tears,

and fluttering their red, toothless, frog-like gums

I'll lock them away in the stable, for a night,

alongside the fat corpse of a sacred cow

Perhaps they deserve to cry

They aren't old enough to imagine Christ,

in slow motion, pushing a vacuum cleaner

back and forth, across a rug

I am legally deaf to their nonverbal language

Underneath my loose hood, to hide

the permanent wrinkle of my face,

dead mites are fertilizing the gilded lilly

that blossoms forever, post-impeachment,

like a handicapped archangel suspended in time

Which leads me to believe

I need not take responsibility for the petty crimes

I once committed out of spite - the slur campaign I ran

against my own circulatory system, and the nights

I'd eagerly trespass on private grounds

The sublime beauty and grandeur of my

extended kittenhood, the sacred relics I pump with my hands,

and the waste that trails behind me during the moulting season

is, naturally, irrelevant 

and should perhaps be challenged at a war crimes trial

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