Five small chickens

The chickens

The chickens
In the lobster pot
Are having a
Rock n’ roll party

I begin to read

I begin to read
But I succumb
To nothingness

I lean back
And let my eyes
Fill with sight

Air and space
light and feeling
Is home

How do they think

How do they think
That working people live
Like a picture book?

How did they come to believe?
That working people survive
Like a political dream world?

God gave us fingers

God gave us fingers
To eat with
But that was in a garden

Then came the world
And our fingers
Are dipped in shit

Even though we have
Knives and forks
To eat with

At midnight

At midnight
A dream figure
Searches thru
The sand of my nerves
For a window

He has never found
A mirror
Built inside
The head
Where only
A wardrobe exists
In theory

fears you’ve had
fears you have now
doors of escape
doors of change
fear of confrontation
fears about yourself

The windows do not exist
So why should I exist

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