Poem: Trying To Be Dead

 

Trying To Be Dead

 

who wasn’t dead or trying to be dead?

the load was easier.  less heavier.

no tears like in crystal balls

which foretold the many ways you

would fail to try.

 

you could be a lot of things

in the quest for decomposure.

 

you could be harsh, fast and erotic,

or sedative and trinket-gamed. 

you could be apron-dutiful

or march to the gun.

you could blow servile in the castle

which forced the original split

while standing erect

over those who serve you.

 

you could pray

to the god of gone nomads

who wandered deserts like sheep and goats.

and you could choose which side

of the flag to worship--white, black-and-

blue or carpet red.  but

 

it wouldn’t be the first time

 

you wanted to be exorcised,

the numerical sacrifice

of your identification card:

how it stored your computed behavioral soul

in various assimilated, acculturated

files. 

 

 

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9/10/26 ... "blow was a typo (freudian slip?) ... I am going to keep it in for now (forever?)

decomposure = play on decompose (death), breaking out of conformist composure, etc.

less heavier  = always oppressive no matter what