Grrr-ipped
Punk music docs
to blast the rocks–
no, these are
vicious boulders
ingrained in me,
damming up
the tear flow
Tunnel vision:
grey figures,
silhouettes that
only I can see
Head bangs,
vice grip
around a neck
Clanging chains,
forced to neglect
all shades of
grossed intellect
Understanding
isn’t something
I can grovel for,
I have trouble
with my knees,
with my worried
stomach I’m shuddering
outside the door
of relief,
begging for re-entry,
for a paradisiacal reprieve
Please, please,
lightning bolts on my back,
release me from this
snake strike, from this
merciless humid attack
Turn up the volume
to drown the
simulacrum
of safe & sound
that’s trying to infiltrate
this frigid sickroom
Seems counterproductive
& self-destructive,
but it’s just
how I gotta live
Thistle Thoughts 