Stickman
Walking at a nerve-bit pace
Hands in pockets; hard-tack face
Moving with purpose
But no destination in mind
Do you believe
There’s nothing in which to believe
Go to bed with no idea
What to do should you wake up
You were born with two good ears
Born with two good eyes
Born scanning the delivery room
For someplace you could hide
Saw you sitting there at the bar
Drinking fast and smoking hard
In the only element
That you’ve ever called your own
Just another damning indictment
Should’ve seen it coming
Go to bed with no idea
What to do should you wake up
Should I die before I wake
I pray the lord my soul to
Not take down
You were born with two good ears
Born with two good eyes
Born scanning the delivery room
For someplace you could hide
Stickman sitting on a branch
Scared to let the world see you
- 30 -
1 comment:
Scott,
You have somehow pulled yourself
out of the loop of standard brand
James Dickie poetry (thinking of stuff like The Eyebeaters)and let
your (agh!) eyes do the walking.
Pretty good depiction of the Main Street Soldier. I have been a
privato soldado.
Ivan
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