Saturday, November 12, 2005

Magical Thinking

Decades of magical thinking
Have brought me to this
Stepping out of life
Into the pictures
Hanging on the walls
Of the doctor’s waiting room

Raised in a bad town
North of the border
My malnourished mind

It shrieks
It shrieks
It shrieks

It cannot be felt
It cannot be tasted
It hovers over me
Misshapen, mean spirited,
It annihilates my soul
Commandos hands all over me
They slowly lift their guns

But in those hills
Within those landscape
There is a peaceful writer’s day
Sun shines
Its rays fall
I imbibe hot, sugary tea
And seek refuge in
A valley to the West
In which I avoid
The massacre of my heart.


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