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into the frying pan.

by Jared Fladeland

rifle a shot of truth through the head
and the mess that ensues
is splattered cartilage, sinew, and brain matter.

speak in distorted nothingness
and we get numb, cynical,
and wheeled around in a wheel chair up and down a hallway
until lunch, then dinner,
until bed comes around the corner.


an omelet sure sounds good at this point.

10/19/2008

Author's Note: ha. this makes me giggle.

Posted on 10/20/2008
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 10/20/08 at 03:01 AM

That is such a badass last line. Well done, sir.

Posted by Nanette Bellman on 10/20/08 at 05:26 PM

reminds me of "one flew over the cookoo's nest".

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