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We've eaten less.

by Johnny Crimson

There's something silent about catastrophe
that never gets a nod.
No acknowledgement to talk about,
just a stiff-necked facade.

This just in, oh well forget it.
That happened without a blink,
and every time I turn to talk to you
you're bent over the sink.

So if its fate don't let it happen
take a scissor to its eyes,
bite the knuckles of your lover
twist her fist down toward her thighs.

Cos there is science in the hallway
and I got some on the lamp,
I feel more gross when I'm forgiven
like a terrorist in confession...

Like the written words of an oral test
that we can't touch or see.
Someone dreamt of a tornado
and was awakened in the trees.

Feel this rock that burns against you
like the scraping of a muscle
feed this appetite I'm begging you
someone's coming,better hustle.

07/11/2012

Posted on 07/11/2012
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 07/14/12 at 01:25 AM

I used to say that if I had considerable wealth I'd be philosopher but I've learned now that isn't true. Instead I'd be a terorist like all the other wealthy people because it really is the only way to communicate.

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