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To Live or Re-Live
by michael cahill
new life
larger than
grand design so divine
they say
who and whom you see
well--toothless and suckling instinctive
mindless unable to
pick
from a lineup
or
testify
man’s best friend
and no one is peeing on anyone’s
leg
just this moment when a
friendly
hug will do …
this tabula rasa craves
a crayon maybe
or a skate key
or a mud pie
but a pair of Daisy Dukes
will do
you and you and even you
but no one’s thru
the door
who knew
the thing to do
just the educated
oiled and spoiled
few
and all who toiled
were soiled from head to somewhere
halfway down and swung around
embroiled embarrassingly shocking
as the impaled one is
you
when your uncle Jane declared to
buy them lace less
shoes
but it was Sunday see
and sanctity
dissuaded sense
and holy hell
this makes you shout
some holy names
then Monday comes
thank God
you made it
you are sure to be
okay
childhood has moveable parts with varying
degrees of sympathy
so insert them here
and then exert them and assert them
as your conscious allows
and your selfish side finds desire
and reckless yearning plows on through
the debt that you perceive
the fabric of the earth and all upon it
owes
to you
and all you did done did
and will done do
no matter if it’s true
for it looks and sounds so very touching
true
and gets you
every pulsing heart
as blue as love
that’s true
for even though you lie
the story burns a campfire
worth of sugared goo
and diabetic comas
soon ensue
and pocket watches vanish
to the local pawn shop
items flew
while sleeping someone deftly had
their
way
with
you
but smile for that sweet
story
could’ve have been so gruesome
gory
and the nights in purgatory
that you’ve spared the orphaned child
found floating on the ocean
twenty years
without a sip of Mountain Dew
and the thought of special sauce
slathered on a char-broiled burger
keeps the sea from winning
this
war of attrition
for the solemn sad admission
gets a pounding and it’s lost within
a frolic as two lovers
who got lucky
linger long enough to put the
lonely shell up to their ear
and hear the whispered plea
of that poor fool that couldn’t be
what everyone is born
for
can’t you see?
you are born to live the life
that’s meant to be
not to dwell in some
conundrum pulling at some knot
that wasn’t meant for you
to try and loosen and untie
and there’s no answer if you do
and no time left now for you
and just a little rope
and it won’t serve you well
you ponder destinations but you’ve already
arrived
you’re not going anywhere
you’re not a traveler
it is clear
for hell’s a warm, warm
home
or
live
true
as
you alone
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Copyright 2024.
michaelcahill
All rights reserved.
michaelcahill
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