if i had held-out for a few more years,
i would have soured and Jesus would
toss me back down, to the other hell;

figgering that the earthly hell was
a scrimmage for the real hell;
the one that doesn't spit you out.

rather uses you to stoke the fire,
already flaming and will continue
in extant; something never seen.

like a team ahead, who stalls for
the final buzzer. we then lose,
with our magic bag of Felix's tricks.

in unison we sing and seethe,
chasing a reality we wouldn't
know, if it sat in our face.

i am the front page news
with no follow-up story;
from front page to the obits.

we live. some die. some live again.

06/06/2011

Posted on 06/06/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan