At The Brinks Of The Mercy Of Your Own Dreams

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
taken from my book, "How Can I Remember?"

Submitted: May 12, 2011

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Submitted: May 12, 2011

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At The Brinks Of The Mercy Of Your Own Dreams

-

Justice clocks

I'm dreaming of juctice clocks

I'm dreaming to shut my

Damned mouth up

Juice clocks

I'm just a cooped up hen

In the land of nests

__with chickens on them

I could shut my mouth

If I dream hard enough

But why would I be quiet to begin with?

An open field of glory

Would be the Abature

Of forgiveness

But hadI said my peace early

WouldI be back?

If I left as chopped up wood

__for the believers that gather like rain

Wouldn't there be just

Less time to gain?

This empty wandering

Can only let no colidascopes of faith

Stay off their own plates

Handed down picket signs

Have only merchant telephones

With guided wallets of spending bliss

If shopping was to be dread

Can it lock you up in doom?

Maybe it has you

Slapped in the face of terror

Or handed down to the guards of life

You've been weebling and wobblng

__at the sharpest edges

That stripped you of your senses

Now stand up!

And cut your brain up!

March over top the fountain

__of fucking up!

And don't stop to dance!

Or let up!

If you eat your potatoes the right way

You wouldn't have this problem!

Now

If you excuse me

I have a toillet to piss in

-

05-12-'11 #1

D. L. Cannon


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