|
A Tree Growing From My Chest
Should I die (or fade out gently)
Plant my body (freeze my soul)
So that a tree grows from my chest (that I feed a new life ).
Subtext, context, wisdom,
I sometimes feel so dead-alive.
Should we live so long (as young-old men do)
That the earlier me has become a total stranger?
Naivete and ideals,
All spoiled by the reality of experience (spilled blood and worms).
The diversity of complexity,
The blurring black lines in older weaker eyes.
Should I live (and have new children)
Plant my seed in a new generation,
So that a tree grows from my chest.
© R.L.Bagula 10 July 1998
.
What She Did To Me
(black humor)
They tell me I had electroshock therapy,
But I can't seem to remember it.
And everything seems a little vaguer
than it should
about my past.
Although I still remember how she dumped me
and ran off with that other guy!
And I cry myself to sleep
(Sometimes I wish that I weren't me).
I was sure she was
My One True Love.
It makes me so wild
my skin begins to tingle all over
And I want to be somewhere else.
It was acting out these frustrations
That got me into this straight jacket
in a padded room,
But I still believe in True Love!
© R.L.Bagula 22 Oct 1998
.
The Nowhere Man From Neverland
A blurry person
Slurred speech
Out of focus
Rumpled clothes
No real edges...
No one can say quite who or where he is
Or where he live
He's there
He's everywhere
But not so you can put you finger on him!
They plot add campaigns based on him
He is a big study of the business crowd
demographically speaking....
He's Mister Average
He's that normal that isn't there
(as statistics sees it).
He's us!
© R.L.Bagula 7 Sept 1998
|
