Monday, May 24, 2010


in clever calculus i drew the future
because i had a story about the past

but who would listen? i was the village idiot
crusading against an imaginary fraud as an imaginary fraud's first friend

i deserved no air time: i was a profanity
i deserved no empathy.

at my worst i was blood with no pulse
staining our collective clothes
at my best i was a wound with no blood
displaying our insides to children

at my worst i was the village villain
purveying disgust and dementia
at my best i was simply hurt
by my own delusion or disposition

at my best i was a drunkard
reciting a black comedy
blackest in its depictions
but funniest in its fictions

i was the village idiot, fraud or fallacy
fame or family, they would not listen

we had mistaken a wolf for our dog
and dogs don't need sheep's clothing; they are already family

we tamed the intellect but not the surveyor
and we were sized up like a happy meal

and still i stand apart: a melting freudian split
an idiot disappearing over the horizon

safely out of audible range
muzzled for your comfort while wool adorns the podium

never mind the speaker's bloodstained teeth
never mind the speakers' increasingly audible hiss

the children are instructed to laugh:
never mind the pain.
this is how wolves play games.
you do like to play games, don't you?

don't you?

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