Self examination
snap the nitrile
blue gloves up in your ventricles
grab a ********
or two
we're gonna stretch and
pull down the protector
3,2,1 avant garde
no sound, but your life was hard
I noticed
you spoke it
credits were rollin'
down your cheek
so you smoked it
and laughed at
nothing certain but death and taxes
laxative breakfast served
a generation
you miss it you miss it
a life that hurt because you
scavenged for Christmas
the little blessings
a life worth living
by killing optimists
penetrating defense
to pillar high with indifference
to intent
now you can't ascend
you stash it
in Easter baskets
in sillicone lashes
push the ashes together
then burn the mattress
dust to sand
through fingers, a fist
3rd grade principal
pulled from detention
a stretcher pulled you
white to trenches you fought in
when all you needed was
a breath of attention
who said you could end it
win it
prescription of tribulations
from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas
he put you through it
all the abuses
the habits
the black and white canvas
silent obscuring angles
of mannequins
30 seconds of a dancer
who prayed for this madness
who pays for the therapist
who even lets you have it
who kept you out of church
and into church basements
who writes the book of curses
that force fed you the sedative
given by laxatives
that say they went to college.
their Suit is stained in coffee
Yet you have the vices
The film is over
the light flickers darkness
we sit in the coffin
smokin' and screamin'
blood is flowing, but there's
no fire
we're just speakin'
what happens after 3PM
witching hour that one scene
when the camera angle was
blurry.
it spoke to me
said self examination can't be
latex
you gotta get nitrile
they're cut resistant
cover five fingers
not just a lover
a stranger
they protect you from more than danger
so button your blanket
take down the ink curtains
sun was always shining,
closed it
to blurry focus
could take our macguyver theater
wallpaper canvas stretching
hit us in the temple
like a parsha
finished another session
the blessing of human language
the messenger
malakh, without expectation
we fumble to understand
Scalpel in our hand,
ventricle in tact
we're just holdin' a feather pen
talkin' in white and black
we stick our hands in the past
take a look at examination
then take a look at our self.