If only we\'d wake in the dark
Every morning a glass of hard liquor
Bracing for the Sun\'s beating drawl
How I rested as a bairn
in a bed with stuffed toys, I can\'t recall
Safely, ornately, erupting irate
Irritatingly and furiously callous
Tactless and fattened like a calf to slaughter
As a sacrifice for the good of the cause,
the common welfare
The frayed backdrop for these projections
Preceding its tear
Fully on display, the cross I bear
The tears I have shed
All the pain in my share
Was I always this phantom?
With this restless weight
Bearing on my soul, a staggering gait
Eating the words of useless oration
And fruitless conflation of these baseless cases
No longer my own, therefore
Who am I to care?
Who am I to point and prod?
Prying open all these mended scars
All for not but this banal curiosity
As to whether it was I with the knife or
If it was me who got shot.