– You won’t feel a thing,
so don’t complain.

SprinkleWake up to love
in the midst of violence.
Have I still not grown up?

I would never harm you,
though my clothes are staples
and my heart won’t dance.

I’m a lazy idiot
seeking to evade responsibility.
I wish things to happen by magic.
I can’t lift a finger.
I don’t know if my body’s real,
though some of it lingers.

The wind is latent hysteria
in dishonest confusion.
The babble of voices
keeps itself armed, bemused
and tongue-tied in its
low-down come ~
ust enough to be soporific.

Driving me crazy,
just for the heck of it.
Real lives are lightweight
and always blown at the last moment,
like dandelion clocks.

There’s no chance of waking up:
the opium’s in our bedchamber,
buried down at Wounded Knee.
There are so many distractions
you couldn’t count them

though you spend your life
doing so.

Turin Shroud

© 2003 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications
All rights reserved