Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

He'll have his lamp

"If I could make a lamp
Out of anything in the world," he said,
Furiously chewing his nails
And tempestuously rocking back and forth,
"It would have to be a rhino's shoe."
He laid himself back on the concrete
And let the rain take him back
To the hells he'd created in
His dim mind.
Once the voices ceased,
Though they seldom did,
He was up again, collecting cans
From the garbage and putting
Them in his sack.
He collected even numbered playing cards,
Said the odd ones were too emotional
And asked if I wanted to play
With half a full deck.
I let him go, I let him in,
A figment in my mind,
He would remind me of the feeble sunshine
And how flawed the world truly was.
Nighttime fell so whimsically
And his bed was usually
Whatever alley was least wet.
In the mornings for his breakfast,
He'd nibble the grass,
Stating that he knew the allure
That led cows to their feast
While pulling what little
Hair he had on his head.
We'd later find out, he was nearly
Bald because he'd rip it out
And give it to earth.
The image was anamorphic,
But it's the eyes that I'll never forget,
Like two pennies rolling
Around in a piggy bank,
Waiting to be set free.
I think someday he'll be home again;
I think someday he'll have his lamp.

Feb. 3. 2010.
 


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He`ll have his lamp

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