Hammer on the Anvil
Some days I’m a mutt in a burning doghouse
watching the ladies roam by
while the fire trucks siren their way to a fire
that isn’t mine.
Some days my nostrils are filled with the putrid stench
of the future.
Some days I’m standing in an R & D lab
while the air blasts from a gas cylinder,
snapping like a gun, which makes me jump,
and I get mad as all hell that the war has won a little
even after several years.
Some days I want to roll the dice,
try my hand at Russian roulette,
fuck the system by ignoring the system,
take back my cards,
take back my life,
take back my freedom,
take back my pride,
peel back my eyelids,
carve out my eyes,
and set them in a trophy case
where they can be admired for all they’ve seen
so that I can continue living without observing.
Some days I just want to drink
until I have no more driving fines,
no more wishes,
no more hopes,
no more of any of the things that make me anxious.
Some days I want to be still like a deer drinking from
an Oregon stream, with a beer, close to rough men
with untamed beards, and the silence of a river gorge canyon.
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