The choral head

A longhair beats a mutt and the whole neighborhood
hears it. A dog in monologue: “Yelp, yelp.”
The meager narrative of help thyself—
it appears civilization wants to dissolve—
where the beasts go the twenty-one year olds go:
away, away, away—to a gas chamber, or the bay,
anywhere but an oubliette where I must be myself—
and hear the chorus in my head repopulate—
a longhair beats a mutt in Nashville—
dirty children mingle in a corner slum and  say,
“You are the way you are because you are.”
To say—donde esta tu madre? Too far—
instead, we mock the dead and convince
the best among us to think, in choral mode:
“You are scorned and all your peers cheer
your misconstruction on—you, explode!”
A longhair beats a mutt and best impressions
don’t even begin to rectify that—

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~ by Jeremy on June 27, 2013.

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