by Vance Farrell
(Allentown PA)
I worry about the misspent love lost in consequences of every breath I mistook in a cattle drive cluster fuck of mania and abstinence. I worry there’s tomorrow waiting to pounce out on everything I hold dear, tear it to shreds, leave it for dead, sliced off cartilage and eyeball popping river swept heads. I alone have visions of dread, children I love stolen from their beds, innocence tossed like a salad, swallowed cough syrup bad. Is she as pure as pure needs to be, has she been touched, slapped, bruised and beaten to the point she can’t see. Or have I never seen a truer lie? By and By through the corner of my eye as my stomach shakes causing my stream of consciousness to break. Would I be better off supporting a shawl protected to the loss of realism in our time? Be it a small yet hard pill to swallow and a harder band to follow, playing romantic to an internet savvy Casanova’s with their expensive hotel rooms. So many rooms, backseats and front, wild fields of corn, yet rubbers prevent the procreation of growth but not the annihilation of my heart. I can’t believe you blame me; I was to set you free from all that you carried that’s why we were married. Were, the past tense of are the destruction of is. Man it’s time to man up and be a man, walk like a man, talk like a man, get your dick out of your hand, use your head to crush a beer can, run in the sand. Move on down the line, regretting her should be a crime and find yourself in childhood rhymes. Let the beginning begin again.
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