“Buste de femme et autoportrait” (Bust of
woman portrait) by Pablo Picasso (1929)
Over
on this side of the fence there is no oval and therefore no grass, just stone, and stoners
No athletics
and hence no competition
No
need to hand the worth you put on yourself on the table
Out
in the open
Two
people mount a ladder to differ the light bulb of a street lamp
The
difference is told only at night
Where the field is absent of souls, and their feet
When
the insects come out to play and prey
Harvest their meals
With the
sharp claw and impeccable sight
Mother
them
With
bare hands
Resist
the temptation to crunch an infliction of pain and agony
Under
the soles of our feet is blood
And
sins
A
sinful disgrace
Disgraceful
sin
The
persistent repetition of which will cause an examination
For
authenticity
How
does an excessive amount of air hold the sufficient grounds on which to breed
Suffocation, it hardly
makes sense
If at
all
Our
lungs will plunge
The
bags of oxygen
Formerly
known as, will supply no more
The
will to live
Withers
on a daily basis
Whether
or not there is a cause
With
assistance we’ll pierce through our organs of sight a dream of infidelity
Committed
on our behalf
On
our bodies
Still
looking to hold someone accountable for
A scapegoat will never come of a volunteer
